


Rhythm and Blues

by Cherilyn (Ankh), hgdoghouse



Series: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy [2]
Category: The Fugitive (1993)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, canon and OC characters of colour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 143,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankh/pseuds/Cherilyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Fumbling Towards Ecstasy </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FEELIN' GOOD

"'Birds flying high, you know how I feel. Sun in the sky, you know how I fee-eel.'" Gerard broke off singing as he entered the Federal building, nodding to the security guard as he headed for the elevator.

'"It's a new dawn, it's a new day, It's a new life for me - yeah!'" Punching his fist in the air for emphasis, he became aware of the stares aimed in his direction.

The coffee-maker would have to be replaced. And the alarm clock. A courier had damn near had him off the road and the Ferrari was making some pretty peculiar noises that had not been mentioned in the manual. He had a budget meeting set up for this morning which would result in a waste of three hours but would mean an increase for his department - he'd see to that - and at some point in the day he'd have to go shopping (for a rug for christ's sake! And it was Richard's fault - kind of). Oh, and he'd had to skip breakfast and hadn't even had time for coffee.

When he'd arrived at work part of the basement car park had been closed off, so he'd had to leave his car in a secure parking lot a block away. It had been raining. Heavily.

Gerard got into the elevator that would take him up to the offices of the U.S. Marshals Service, without giving the enclosed space a second thought. He smiled to himself as water began to pool around his feet.

Today was going to be a good day.

 

Deputy Renfro blew his nose and gave a moist sniff. One of the pleasures of havingschool aged kids they never mentioned was the fact they brought home every damn disease known to man - and a few things he'd never come across and hoped never to again. Good thing his stepson, Alex, had been past the kindergarten stage when he'd met his wife, Caroline, or he'd probably have caught bubonic plague by now.

He sniffed again, louder this time as Gerard's secretary, Jenna, headed his way. He suspected his bid for sympathy was doomed, but he went for it anyway. He got a disgusted look thrown in his direction as she went by. See? Doomed. Jenna looked sweet but she was as hard as nails. Why had he even bothered? He could never figure out women. Caroline would have had him wrapped in blankets with a hot lemon drink within minutes if he'd tried the sick bunny routine at home, which was why he'd sneaked off this morning before she could make him call in sick. He didn't want twenty-four hour sympathy, but having the option would have been nice.

He dropped the pathetic act and sat at his desk, reaching for his handkerchief when necessary and got on with some paperwork. A couple of minutes later a cup of coffee was placed next to him, along with a jelly doughnut. Surprised, he looked up, all red nose and watery eyes to find Jenna smiling at him. She ruffled his hair then went on her way.

Now _that_ was why he could never figure out women. He was still gaping after her, trying to figure out what he'd been doing right - when he hadn't been aware of doing anything - when he heard it.

It was a sound that was being heard with increasing frequency, most noticeably over the last month. It was a sound that some had come to dread, accompanied as it was by an overwhelming warmth, which was fine on its own; but there was something more. The something was unsubtle, in your face, yet tantalizing. It was so overpowering that it could practically be smelt and tasted.

The something was the air of a guy who was getting plenty. And the sound was Sam Gerard singing - ever so slightly off-key. Renfro groaned and retreated, sniffing, behind a manilla folder.

 

Poole slid her shoes off, looking down at her slightly damp feet with mild annoyance. Briefly she considered going to the ladies room and changing into fresh panty hose but she felt far too comfortable and mellow to bother. She'd go shopping for a new pair of shoes in her lunch break, maybe give Roger a call at Chicago Memorial, see if they could meet up. They could eat together, buy a couple things, maybe even talk. They hadn't done much talking over the weekend. Not unless you counted body language.

And her Roger could get real eloquent.

Poole gave a throaty chuckle that made Jenna, who was wandering past with coffee and doughnuts, flash a knowing smile in her direction. Poole caught the smile and her own grin grew wider, with not the faintest trace of self-consciousness. She wriggled a little on her seat, wallowing in this happy glow for a little while longer.

She was dreamily stirring sweetener into her coffee when she heard a sound that reminded her just how good her weekend had been. She turned her head to watch as Sam Gerard made his way to his desk. Poole grabbed every opportunity to drive into work with Gerard - the charms of Sam's Ferrari against the department Ford Taurus was hardly a fair contest - and she was familiar with Gerard's taste in music. Therefore it didn't require genius to figure out what Gerard had been listening to on his way to work, though that low-voiced, sexy growl owed more to Howlin' Wolf than Nina Simone.

Gerard was exuding the lazy well-being of the sexually satisfied, the way he was moving was downright indecent and probably bad for a poor, defenceless, straight woman's heart - but, oh my, was it sweet for the soul. The hips were damn near swaying as he walked - no, danced - his way across the room. There was an almost fluid quality to the smooth flow of muscle and bone, as if the man was in danger of melting - that or spontaneous combustion if he got any hotter. Combined with his natural grace and the soft-footed predator's stalk, he was irresistible. Somewhere there was a sex-o-meter just for Sam, and the damn thing had alarm bells ringing as it went into overload.

Poole was reminded, suddenly and forcibly, of her tomcat. He used to wear that same look on his face when he came home after slipping out for a wild night. Well he had, until his operation. Poole's eyes slid south until she mentally slapped herself and fixed them firmly on Sam's face. That wasn't much better, Sam's expression letting the world know exactly what he'd been up to, as graphically as if he'd had illustrations and word balloons tattooed on his forehead. And the only thing more suggestive of sex than that smile would be his arriving at the office, naked, with an erection.

She sat back to enjoy the view as Gerard wound his way around the office. She grinned when poor old Lenny Gold swung around on his chair and found himself staring at Gerard's swaying ass, causing him to choke on his bagel. Over by the window a young woman who looked like a cheerleader was practically hyper-ventilating. Well there was nothing like introducing new agents to the harsh realities of life in the U.S. Marshals Service. It didn't come much harsher than learning Sam Gerard was already spoken for, as the female agent's lolling tongue and glazed eyes could testify. Poole saw Jenna had noted the woman's reaction and knew a potentially embarrassing incident would be nipped in the bud. Ritchie was performing the Heimlich maneuver on Lenny, so that was another problem taken care of, leaving Poole to enjoy the finest window shopping outside of the Magnificent Mile.

There was something very touchable about Sam when he was like this, something which made the fingers start to twitch with a longing to smooth back the dark hair. She wanted to stretch out and stroke that neck, down those shoulders, watch him undulate beneath her palm as he walked on by, twitching his tail. Hell, she'd swear if she rubbed his belly he'd purr.

Roger always did.

She smiled to herself at her thoughts, flexing her hands until the feeling wore off.

Gerard caught her watching him and gave her a smile of such smug satiation it was probably making half the office pissed. The half who weren't getting any anyhow.

Poole merely gave him a smug smile of her own, causing Sam to start chuckling to himself. He slapped Renfro on the back as he went past.

Renfro looked despairingly at Poole then blew his nose.

Poole's smile slipped as she remembered what day it was.

Oh god. She waved frantically at Jenna, who was watching Newman with a concerned look on her face.

 

Newman sat at his desk, a file in his hands, unaware that he had read the same page twice and looked all set to read it a third time. Beside him was the cup of coffee and doughnut Jenna had placed there which he had yet to notice. Never bring your problems to work - how often had he heard that particular maxim? Just because he'd ended his relationships with Monica and Abby and still didn't know what was missing from his life didn't mean he had to inflict his misery on everyone around him.

"That the Lloyd file?"

Newman gave a start of surprise and looked up to find Sam Gerard perched on the side of his desk. At the same time he noticed a beaker of coffee and a doughnut and wondered how they'd got there.

"Yeah, it is. Thought I'd get started on it early." Newman shifted in his seat, feeling suddenly on edge and twitchy though he didn't know why. He could feel himself bristling at Gerard's proximity though it wasn't usually a problem, and Sam wasn't sitting that close. He moved his chair back a little, wanting to pace to rid himself of this peculiar sensation.

"Keep me posted. Hm, jelly-filled." Gerard picked up Newman's doughnut and began to eat with noisy enthusiasm.

Sugar began to rain gently on the young deputy's desk. A blob of jelly oozed out, threatened to fall, then did so, right onto Newman's favorite pen. He snapped out of his reverie and stared at Gerard in a pointed fashion.

Gerard gazed down at the mess, then gave Newman a scolding look. "You're gonna have to learn some table manners, young man. If there's something I can't abide, it's sloppiness." He toasted Newman with the cup of cooled coffee then sauntered away, licking his fingers clean with lascivious pleasure.

Newman watched him go, the prickling feeling fading as Gerard left. Sam was so obviously happy and -

That was what was missing. Newman wanted that. Not Gerard of course, he'd make one ugly woman, and not Gerard's lover, Richard Kimble, who really didn't have the legs to carry a short skirt. No, he wanted what they had, he wanted the kind of love that would make him smile for no damn reason, the kind of love that would make his face light up whenever he thought about her, whoever she was, whatever her name would be. He wanted someone to complete him, even if he hadn't realized until recently what it was that was missing. Dammit, he wanted someone who, when they had sex, called it making love.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to wait until he was as old as Sam.

 

Renfro watched Newman with Gerard and surfaced out of his misery just enough to find the younger deputy's reaction mildly amusing. He would probably have remained oblivious of such things if Caroline hadn't muttered a remark one day about 'the male animal', when Gerard was being, well, too Gerard. He'd asked her what she'd meant and she'd pointed out that whenever Sam had clearly got laid, or was soon to be, practically every man within a few feet of him either became aggressive or backed off. Renfro had got quite indignant about this, so Caroline had added that women were not exactly left unaffected, then gone off to collect the kids before his spluttering got embarrassing.

After that he began to notice it with others, though not every man garnered the same reaction. Men like Biggs and Newman got a slap on the back, a few ribald comments in the men's room. Why the hell was that? What made the difference? And where could he get some?

Renfro preferred to think of it as a human animal thing, since Caroline was right - it wasn't just men who reacted. Women would smile more at Gerard, go over to his desk with any lame old excuse; Poole of all women, someone who had his deepest respect and admiration - though he'd suffer torture by hypodermic before he'd tell her so - was sitting there with her eyes on Gerard's ass looking ready to pounce. He'd worried about that, until one day she had caught the look of horror on his face and murmured 'Othello'. He'd thought she meant the play, until he remembered that was the name of her cat. Then he'd understood - well, partially. Poole didn't look at her cat quite like that, and if she did he'd have calIed in animal protection. But he thought he knew what she meant and she did have a point. Gerard did have that look of cat-got-the-cream.

It was just kind of worrying that people didn't react the same way when _he_ got laid.

 

Biggs had been happy until he woke up this morning to find his alarm clock wasn't working.

Then he and his partner Wesley discovered that whoever had to take the 'El' would be late for work. Normally this wasn't a problem, as their offices were on or near South Dearborn Street, so they usually drove in together. Unfortunately, today Wesley was visiting clients on the South side. Now the way Biggs saw it, an accountant could be as late as he wanted - it wasn't like a calculator was going to run amok and start killing people, was it? Biggs on the other hand might end up flying out of town because some wacko was collecting human heads. Which made Biggs' job more important. Which was what he'd told Wesley. For some reason Wesley had been real pissed about that.

Then the car refused to start, so he'd pushed it while the other man got behind the wheel. Somehow he ended up with a faceful of water and his clothes splattered with mud. Wesley had laughed.

Their row had lasted for the fifteen minutes it took Biggs to clean up and change into fresh clothes. By which time they were both late. Only a miracle and the violation of several traffic laws had got Biggs to work on time.

He could hear someone humming and singing softly behind him and didn't have to turn around to know that it was Sam Gerard wearing an unbearably smug smile, like the guy had just invented sex or something.

He and Wesley had been too tired for sex last night, but there had been a lot of cuddling.

He liked cuddling.

He scowled at the ring on his finger, remembering his last words to his lover. Of course he respected Wesley and what he did - he was wearing his damn ring, wasn't he?

Gerard's singing was really starting to bug him. Actually, the fact that Gerard was breathing was annoying him. It was always like this after Sam had got some but this morning it was far worse than usual. OK, so the guy had had sex. Woo-de-fucking-doo. He glared at the other man, resenting his happiness when he himself was feeling so miserable. A line from a book that he'd read a couple of times to Cosmo's kids popped into his head: "That Sam-I-Am, that Sam-I-Am, I do not like that Sam-I-Am." Except with Sam it wasn't having green eggs and ham forced on you that you had to worry about, it was those damn doughnuts.

He fixed on this minor grudge, hoping to distract himself from other more troubling matters.

"I do not like them, Sam-I-Am." Years back he'd made the mistake of eating just one doughnut out of politeness when Gerard had offered and given him a look of utter disbelief at his refusal.

Years later he was still eating 'just one'. To be honest, the problem wasn't that he didn't like them. He liked them too damn much. Try telling that to Mister Lean-and-Mean Gerard; the guy had never had to worry about an extra pound in his life.

Gerard went past in a way that would have sent a siren song around any gay bar. Biggs considered telling Gerard this - anything to wipe that damn happy smile off his face.

Biggs began to tug at his moustache, which was a good excuse for his watery eyes. Shit, it wasn't Sam's fault he was happy and Biggs wasn't.

Maybe Wesley wasn't the only one to blame for this morning.

He sat at his desk and glared at his feet, wondering if it was at all possible to kick his own ass or if he should get someone to do it for him. Poole would - she adored Wesley, and not just because he was Roger's brother.

 _He_ adored Wesley, loved him in the heart-and-soul, till-death-do-ye-part kind of way that exhilarated and terrified and made you feel that maybe this was what life was all about.

So why the hell had he got so pissed?

Well he wouldn't apologize. So he loved the guy. Still, Wesley had laughed. Wesley would have to be the one to say sorry first.

He watched as Gerard teased Newman out of what looked like a fit of the blues. Sam had had moments like this before he'd fallen in love, when he was so laid back he was practically sinking through the floor. But since he'd met Richard he'd taken mellow to a whole new level. There was a contented air about him these days, an added warmth to his smile, and the eyes and face had what could only be described as a glow. And just when you thought he couldn't look happier, you only had to mention Richard's name and - wow. He'd never really thought of Sam as a good-looking guy. But when he spoke of Richard, or thought of Richard, or was in the same vicinity as Richard, you could see why Kimble would put aside years of playing it straight, and fall in love with the guy who'd hunted him and shot at him. Gerard in love was damn near irresistible.

Biggs sighed heavily, looking up briefly when he felt a light hand stroke his hair to see Jenna walking away. There was a beaker of coffee on his desk, blissfully black and sugar-free. And no damn doughnut. He called out his thanks then returned to thoughts of that morning, comparing the way he was feeling to the way Gerard was; to the way Wesley must be feeling right now. Wesley, who'd come pretty close to crying when Biggs had to have his appendix taken out.

What the hell did it matter who apologized first?

He was about to pick up the phone to call his partner when he saw Renfro heading towards him, looking like a hamster who’d had his treadwheel stolen.

It was then he remembered it was budget day.

Holy shit.

 

"No."

"Come on, Biggs, we have a situation here."

"No. It's always me. Besides, I need to make a call." Biggs turned back to his desk and picked up the phone. He chewed his lip as he began to dial, an anxious look on his face.

Renfro eyed the other man with sly cunning. "You'll lose that weeks' holiday from last year."

Biggs put the receiver down slowly and turned around to face Renfro. "No I won't, it's already arranged. I carried it over and Sam agreed that - "

"Right now the man sitting at that desk is not Sam Gerard!"

Biggs gave the other man a faintly quizzical look.

"OK, so I was going for dramatic. Sue me. Look, we need Big Dog. We need teeth and growling, lots of growling. Does that man look capable of growling?"

"Maybe purring, if you hit the right spot," murmured Poole as she drew alongside the two men.

Renfro shook his head at her, at a loss. What was it with women and cat analogies? If it wasn't cats it was horses. As Alex would put it, definitely a chick thing. "You know what day it is? Does the word budget mean anything to you? The guy will be here any - "

"Guys."

" - sec - Guys?"

"Two of them. Maybe they thought they needed reinforcements."

"Shit! We need someone to - "

"Already taken care of. They're being delayed downstairs," Poole said with the barest hint of smugness. She reached for a stick of gum and began to chew.

"How?"

"Jenna is dating one of the security guys. You know Jerry Mitchell?"

"Jerry? He the guy who looks a bit like Wesley?" asked Biggs, something wistful in his expression and a softness in his voice. His hand began to edge along his desk toward his phone.

Poole snapped her fingers. "That's who he reminds me of! I've been trying to - "

"Can we move on here? We have to do something about Sam."

Poole blew a bubble and let it pop with a lazy disregard for elegant behavior. "Well Robert can just do - "

"No, Robert cannot just do it." Biggs scowled at them both, looking much put-upon. "It's always me who has to do it. Send Newman - he's more likely to keep all his fingers and teeth intact."

Renfro sighed. "Send Noah to deal with a happy Sam Gerard? Have you taken a look at the kid this morning?"

The three deputies turned to look at the young man, who was tracing circles in something white on his desk.

"He get dumped?" Biggs asked with a trace of sympathy.

Renfro shrugged. "Hasn't said so, but I recognise the look. Alex was always getting caught two-timing."

"That kid of yours finally get smart and quit playing around?" Poole asked, mildly curious.

"No, he got sneaky and doesn't get caught." He sat on the edge of Biggs' desk, slapping a hand over the phone before the other deputy could start dialling.

Biggs just about resisted the urge to shove Renfro off his desk. "I'm not doing it."

"You could draw straws," Poole suggested brightly.

Biggs looked her over from top to toe then asked, "We could? How come you never do it?"

Poole opened her eyes very wide. "Sam get mad with me?" she cooed.

Renfro grinned. "Yeah. And you're too damn smart to volunteer."

Poole grinned back. "That's why I'll be running the department in ten years time, and you'll be fetching my coffee and trying to figure out ways to get _me_ steamed."

"Look, let me just make my call and I'll do it," Biggs said, caving in.

"We don't have time, Robert, we have to get Sam pissed before the Budget blowhards get up here. You remember that bonus he got for us last year? He'd just got off the phone with the local F.B.I after they blew the Reynolds' case. Biggs, you gotta go poke him with a sharp stick or - "

"What kinda shit are these people pullin' here!" The voice was loud, Texan, and told everyone within hearing distance - i.e. within a two mile radius - that Samuel Gerard was not a happy man. He strode away from his desk and headed for the glass-walled room they usually saved for the press or serious ass-kicking sessions. The smooth slide and glide that had characterized Gerard's movement about the office was gone. In its place was the purposeful prowl of the predator who hasn't eaten all week and has just scented its next meal.

"Cosmo! Get Whittacker over here for me - I'm going to have that moron's balls over an open fire."

Renfro headed for the rolodex on Gerard's desk, throwing an enquiring look at Jenna, who was already searching for the phone number for Whittacker.

Jenna found the relevant card and slid the rolodex across, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. "C.P.D just issued a statement about Matthew Collins," she murmured.

A grin began to spread across Renfro's face. "The case Sam wanted to keep hushed up?"

"The very same."

"Holy shit and praise the lord. Maybe there is a god. Jenna - "

The woman gave Renfro a wry smile. "I know. I'll go downstairs and let the christians know the lion is waiting."

 

The three deputies virtually danced into the office on a wave of self-congratulation, their high spirits brightening the faces of those around them. Wet Mondays were the pits. Slow, wet Mondays were worse.

The leader of the group, a sexy, wiry Hispanic, flung out his arms, spinning wetly on the spot. "No applause, ladies and gentlemen. We don't expect your thanks, just your adulation. Where's Sam?"

"You think he's gonna give you adulation?" enquired Lenny Gold, his face dark with stubble by this time of the afternoon, but even his normal look of anxiety had been replaced by a smile.

"It could happen," defended Marcie Boulet, a ravishing brunette with large breasts and calculating eyes.

"Not in your lifetime," said a familiar voice from behind them.

Gerard gave a thin-lipped grin that showed lots of teeth as the deputies spun around.

"Hey, Sam. A little credit here. We caught the guy in under three hours," protested Luis, making a typically fast recovery.

"Indeed you did, and without getting shot, for which I'm grateful. The paperwork's a bitch. But the fact remains that you trampled a few egos along the trail. We need to talk about proper procedures," said Gerard, his voice as smooth as silk.

There was a concerted groan.

"Now," Gerard added mercilessly.

"Don't we even get a cup of coffee?" complained Marcie. Her smile was warm but guarded. She had tried flirting with Gerard - once.

"Soon as we've finished. This way, bambini." Gerard led them to one of the smaller conference tables. "Sit. Get comfortable. Decide which story you think I might believe."

"Sa-am," protested Luis, all outrage.

Gerard held up one large hand. "Spare me. I've just had a most interesting conversation with the new captain of the 12th Precinct. Now it may have been my imagination, but she sounded kinda pissed with you guys to me. And I wondered why that might be so. Confession is good for the soul," he added blandly. "Just what did you do to get her so riled?"

"Well it can't have been those three squad cars that crashed," mused Luis. "Because that definitely wasn't our fault."

Gerard closed his eyes for a second. "Start at the beginning, don't stop till you get to the end." Slouched comfortably on his chair, he linked his fingers over his flat belly, his assessing gaze moving from one deputy to the next.

"I still say it would never have happened if it hadn't been for those nuns," chipped in Mike O'Brien.

Gerard gave him a hard stare, his heart sinking when he realized this wasn't some elaborate leg-pull they had planned to make him old before his time.

"Man, how can you sit there and blame the sisters? It was that Santa Claus," insisted Luis, bristling with all the indignation of a lapsed Catholic.

"Whoa. Let's pause right there," said Gerard.

"Sam, I swear on my sister's honor."

"Luis, you're an only child," Gerard reminded him patiently.

"Three witnesses can confirm our story," O'Brien offered in the faux soft Irish accent which was so successful with women. His personality was the thing that let him down.

"Independent witnesses?" checked Gerard, openly skeptical.

"Independent," Luis confirmed with a trace of smugness. It wilted under a considering look from the older man.

"OK," sighed Gerard in a world-weary tone, "I can see I'm going to need caffeine for this. Wait here. Get your stories straight." He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, unaware of the looks he was receiving as he wound his way through the open-plan office.

Quiet, law-abiding deputies had been planning murder all day, because that damn song Sam kept singing was driving them crazy; the consensus of opinion that it wasn't normal to be this cheerful on a wet Monday.

On his way back from the kitchen with his coffee Gerard surreptitiously checked the calendar as he passed Poole's desk. Yep, it was still April. For a moment he'd wondered.

He never did get Santa's role in the proceedings entirely clear.

 

Waiting for the DA's office to come back to her, Poole sipped her cold coffee and absently watched Gerard reseat himself at the conference table. From this distance even his formidable energy was slightly dimmed. He'd emerged from his tussle over the budget looking very pleased with himself, although mercifully he had no longer been broadcasting on a sexual level. Though if Marcie Boulet thought leaning forward and squeezing her breasts together was going to save her, she hadn't learnt much in her five months with the department, she mused, vaguely contemptuous of any woman who had to resort to such obvious tricks. Then her phone rang and all her concentration homed in on the job once more.

 

Sodden with rain, Renfro squelched back into the office just as people were beginning to go home for the evening.

"Hey, Cosmo. It's still raining then," said Ritchie, running to catch the elevator before Renfro could reply.

He sniffed loudly. It was all right for some people, he thought sadly.

"Cosmo," nodded Biggs as he shrugged into his coat. In a stark contrast to the morning there was a sparkle in his eye, a spring in his step and certain lengthy phonecalls to an accountant to his credit.

"You going somewhere special?" asked Renfro hoarsely.

"Just home. To Wesley," added Biggs. "Gotta go."

Renfro fished for his handkerchief and morosely blew his nose. He could remember a time when he'd been eager to rush home. He slung his wet jacket on the rack, ignoring it when it fell to the floor. His entire day had been like that. And it was going to get worse. His expression doleful, he headed towards Gerard's desk, sniffing moistly.

"You took your time," said Gerard with deliberate provocation.

Pushing his wet hair from his eyes, Renfro just gave him a weary look. "Trust you to kick a guy when he's down. I got you your wire-taps."

"Good man. You owe me five dollars," Gerard added, looking pleased but unsurprised. It had been a safe bet. Judge Reuben was a pretty reasonable guy.

Renfro blew his sore nose again. "Look on it as a down payment for the pair of shoes you owe me. This is the third pair you've made me ruin this month."

Gerard peered over the edge of the desk at the water-logged items in question. "It's a merciful release," he said solemnly.

"Three pairs, Sammy. Three."

"That's terrible. You should claim for them."

"I did. But my supervisor's a regular son-of-a-bitch. He disallowed the claim."

"Yeah? You best tell me all about it," said Gerard, all sympathy.

"I'm not one to complain," said Renfro, ignoring the snort that came from the other side of the desk.

"So this supervisor of yours. Doesn't he have any good points?" enquired Gerard, busy putting files away while he spoke.

Renfro thought about it. "None," he said firmly. "Unless you call getting us fresh doughnuts each day kind. Forcing us to eat all that sugar and fat - "

"The guy's obviously a sadist. You look like shit," Gerard added. "A child could arm-wrestle you right now. Go home, try to give Caroline that cold instead of me."

"I'll tell her you said that."

"She'll never believe it. She likes me," said Gerard smugly.

Renfro gave him a brooding look. "It's her only blind-spot." He had to pause to sneeze wetly.

The smile faded from Gerard's face to be replaced by a trace of concern. "You need some time off? Things are pretty quiet."

"I'm fine," dismissed Renfro, immediately straightening from his slouch.

Gerard narrowed his eyes and studied him with a degree of suspicion. "Now here's a mystery. Why would a devoted husband and father decline the chance to spend time with his family?"

"Because I'm not sick," said Renfro but he was looking shifty.

Gerard ignored the interruption. "Could it possibly be that his mother-in-law is due to visit?"

Renfro gave him a look of what had been intended for hauteur. "What makes you think that?"

"Caroline rang. Asked me to tell you that her mother's flight's been delayed. She won't be getting in until just before eleven. Too bad."

Renfro gave him a cold look. "You know, there are times when I really hate you. She's staying the entire week, Sam. Six days. Seven nights."

Gerard patted him on the shoulder. "Caroline will protect you. Go home. Enjoy the few hours peace left to you."

"You could send me away."

"No, Caroline made me promise not to unless it was absolutely necessary. And you know I'd do anything for that woman."

Renfro gave him a disillusioned look. "I've often wondered about her judgement."

"Me, too," said Gerard.

Renfro was feeling so under par that it took several seconds for the insult to penetrate but any cutting retort was lost in a barrage of sneezes.

"Go home," repeated Gerard.

"I'd love to but I haven't finished up those reports."

"What is it with you and paperwork, Cosmo," sighed Gerard in a world-weary tone. "Go. I'll see to them. This once. Yes, I mean it. Now go home before those wet shoes of yours soak into my carpet."

Grinning, Renfro raised a hand in acknowledgement, grabbed his wet jacket and trotted towards the elevators before Sam, who had sworn he was never going to help out with his paperwork again, could realize he had been suckered. He broke into a run when he heard Sam begin to sing that damn song all over again. It really was unnatural: wet Monday, budget day, paperwork and Sammy was happy. Richard Kimble had a lot to answer for.

 

Most of the office was in darkness by the time Gerard was free to leave. Calling home, he heard the message from Richard that he would be working late with no surprise. He glanced out of one of the picture windows, where wind and rain lashed the glass. It was a nice night for it. He would walk over to the hospital, collect Richard. They would decide what to do from there.

 

Vitality sparking from him as he strode along the winding corridors, Gerard took for granted those hospital staff who acknowledged him with a nod or a smile. Pausing to allow a trolley past at a bottle-neck, he took the short-cut which would eventually bring him to Kimble's new office. He had stopped off in the men's room to dry the worst of the rain from his hair and face; his coat seemed to have doubled in weight during the short jog from office to hospital.

Humming under his breath the song which had been playing in his brain all day, he approached the corridor which led to the three theaters in this wing with a decided spring in his step. Automatically catching the door for a plump charge nurse, he realized it was Maria Lopez, one of Richard's favorites; Gerard returned her grin.

"Hi, Sam. We haven't seen you around for a while."

"Work," he explained with laconic truth. "Is Richard still in theater?"

"That's right. And likely to be there for at least another hour."

Catching something in her tone, Gerard gave her a look of query. "Problems?"

"Not since he was called back to deal with a bleeder."

Because he knew Maria well enough, Gerard pulled a comical face. "They waited too long before calling him, huh?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You know better than to expect me to answer that, Sam. But yeah."

"Things will have been kind of lively then."

"You could say. You going up into the gallery to watch the show?"

Gerard's grin showed his appreciation of her choice of words. "He's in good form, huh?"

"If you're not in the firing line. There'll be some well-shredded egos before he's through."

"Great, I could use some light relief."

Maria raised her over-plucked eyebrows. "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."

"Richard gets a picturesque turn of phrase when he's really pissed," Gerard explained.

"Oh, he's picturesque, right enough," she grinned. "You have a good time now."

"I aim too," Gerard assured her as he headed on his way.

Unable to remember when he had eaten last, he demolished the Butterfingers bar he bought from the vending machine in a couple of bites. The coffee was even worse than he remembered and he abandoned it just before he entered the viewing gallery above the theater, which was half-filled with bright-eyed medical students and red-eyed interns. He slid onto a seat in the empty back row.

The first thing he heard was Richard's voice. He forgot hunger and thirst and everything else when he recognised the edge in the normally mellow tone. He felt a ripple of reaction clear to his balls as he listened to the arrogant certainty with which Kimble verbally dissected the cocksure intern who had failed to live up to the standard he expected of his surgical team.

It was ridiculous. Bundled up in scrubs, and wearing those weird glasses, about all that was visible of Richard were his bare forearms. That didn't stop Gerard from finding the other man seriously sexy. While that might have been because he knew what glories were hidden beneath the blues, Gerard suspected it was a reaction to the air of authority which made Richard such a formidable presence. This was a far cry from the relaxed, easy-going lover he lived with; but it was a part of Richard he glimpsed every once in a while, and those times excited the hell out of him, stirring the kinds of fantasies that had never occurred to him until he met the other man.

But then he had never felt for another human being what he felt for Richard Kimble.

His chin propped on his folded forearms as he leant against the back of the seat in front of him, Gerard's gaze drifted to Kimble's bare forearms and remained there, enjoying the play of muscle under the lightly tanned flesh and every dexterous movement of the skilled hands. He made no pretense of understanding the technique Kimble was using, or the instructions he was snapping out to his team, but he had always taken immense pleasure in seeing tasks supremely well done, and as he had discovered from listening to Richard's associates, his lover was considered one of the best in his field.

"Make it necessary for me to remind you of this again and you'll be lucky to get a job sewing shirt buttons. Do I make myself clear, Doctor Hebron?" enquired Kimble with a deadly courtesy.

Gerard felt his dick stir.

Richard in alpha mode could give him a hard-on with just a look. Not that he had ever let him know that.

At least he hoped he hadn't.

Another thirty-five minutes went by, Gerard's concentration on the scene below him as intense as those around the table.

"OK, Keith," said Kimble, his voice warm as he turned to the youngest member of the team. "Close him up. Nice neat stitches, huh?"

By this time various conversations were filling what had been a tense silence. Kimble's deep voice drifted through the higher pitch of those around him. Someone laughed and within seconds the team, with the exception of Hebron, were joking and flirting and generally letting off steam.

"Nice rhythm, Richard," said a woman's voice.

Kimble mimed a high-five with the elegant-looking black woman who had been assisting him and waggled his hips in a more pronounced fashion.

Gerard licked suddenly dry lips.

"I listen to the Blues," Richard was explaining. "They by-pass the cerebellum and head straight for the groin."

"So that's what all guys listen to," cut in a petite nurse, making everyone grin.

As the third-year finished up Kimble was all business again, his gaze flicking around the table. "Nice work, Keith. Thank you, people, we have a wrap. Heather, anything you don't like the look of, call me, OK? Don't worry about it being my free evening. I'll only be having a terrific time at home with Sam."

She gave him a warm grin. "Point taken."

As Kimble gathered up his surgical team and headed out of the theater Gerard concentrated on controlling his breathing, knowing he wouldn't be able to move until his erection had subsided. He also wanted to be certain he wasn't wearing a sappy grin when he left. He hadn't expected Richard to be so upfront about his private life with those he worked with - not voluntarily.

By-passing the cerebellum, that had hit him in the heart.

 

Having left the junior members of his team with enough work to keep them busy all night, unless they had the sense to prioritize, Kimble's severe expression eased the moment he was unobserved. Barring emergencies he had the night off. Barring emergencies Sam would be home. And he had plans.

His rendition of 'Little Red Rooster' while he was under the shower made the general thrust of his intent clear. When he moved on to 'I'm a Man' as he changed into his street clothes, tolerant grins were exchanged by those in the locker room with him. Oblivious of their interest, Kimble stuffed his tie into a pocket and slung the jacket of his dark grey suit over his shoulder before he called in to check on his patient, who had just been taken from Recovery to ICU. Satisfied that the man was stable, Kimble performed a slow, hip-swaying soft-shoe shuffle as he danced down the corridor, singing 'Dust My Broom' under his breath. His energy levels were a source of pride - and some envy - amongst those who worked with him but a heartfelt groan followed him from one of the older nurses, who must have been in her mid-thirties - ten years younger than him.

"How come you don't get tired like normal folks?" she complained.

He gave her a smug grin. "Righteous living," he joked. Offering a farewell flip of his hand, he ran down three flights of stairs.

There were few people around the next section this late in the evening but the couple of nurses Kimble passed paused to smile after him. He was a sweet-moving man at the best of times and watching him now as he boogied down the corridor, radiating happy anticipation -

Oh my.

Maria, who had just finished her shift, was hurrying out of the door which led to the car park when Kimble caught up with her and held open the door. Eyeing his warm smile, she knew that she'd be looking like that - if not singing Hosannas - if she was going home to play with Sam Gerard. Recognizing all the signs in the other man, she knew that after a few hours spent with his lover the doctor would be a pussycat come morning. Well, maybe a tomcat who'd got his, she amended with a wicked chuckle, remembering the doctor when he had arrived at work this morning. A mellow Richard Kimble was quite something. It wasn't that he was ever particularly difficult to work with, just that he expected everyone around him to live up to his high standards. The nursing staff never had a problem with him.

"Night, doctor. Have a good evening," she said as they emerged into the car park, the air sweet and clean after all the rain.

"I plan to," he called, before he slowed his stride, tossing the car keys in his hand. "Did you want me?" While resigned, it was clear that he was at her disposal if he was needed.

"I just wondered if you knew Sam called in earlier to pick you up. Did you spot him in the gallery?"

Kimble was relaxed enough for his pleasure to show on his face. "He's here? I must have missed him. Thanks, Maria." Turning on his heel, he headed back into the hospital with even more enthusiasm than he had left it.

He was singing 'I Just Want to Make Love to You' as he walked passed his secretary's work station and into his darkened office.

Gerard stepped out of the shadows and reached past him to shut the door; there was a slight click as the key turned in the lock. Kimble's singing trailed off.

"I'm here to make your wish come true," Gerard murmured, studying his lover by the light from the desk lamp, which was the only illumination. The blinds down, they were in their own little world.

The remnants of the unthinking arrogance which had marked Richard earlier were still in evidence. He was supremely skilled at what he did - and he knew it, and revelled in the knowledge. The delicious mouth still had a severe set to it, a mess-with-me-at-your-peril glint in his eyes. He wore only a white shirt, open at the throat, and the dark grey pants of his Italian designer suit, his jacket drooping from one hand.

"Hi, Sam," said Kimble as his jacket was twitched out of his grasp and tossed onto a chair.

Gerard made no attempt to return the conventional greeting. Easing his hands under the crisp, clean cotton of Kimble's shirt, he wasted no time in unfastening it. Sliding his thumbs along the other man's collarbones, he sucked and nipped at the strong throat, giving particular attention to the pulse points. He gave a smile of wolfish satisfaction when he felt hands settle over his ass, cupped Kimble's face between his hands and let his hovering mouth pounce on the just parted lips, mastering his lover in seconds.

Far from unhappy to discover that Gerard was obviously ahead of him in the making plans stage, Kimble took an unsteady breath when his mouth was finally freed. His bottom lip tingling, his tongue flicked out.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked as he was firmly steered over to his cluttered desk.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Gerard told him baldly, peeling back the other man's shirt.

Before Kimble could blink he found himself face down over his own desk. His unfastened pants had slipped to his ankles, his briefs were hobbling his knees and his shirt had been pushed so far up his back that it covered his head. Gerard's hands were everywhere, staking their claim as they moved in great swathes down his back and sides, palms kneading his butt as teeth raked his shoulder.

Confused about what had brought this on, but far from unhappy, Kimble tried to shift stance slightly because the head of his penis was in danger of batting the side of the desk. But Gerard was pinning him in place.

Resigning himself to a bruised dick if he wasn't careful, Kimble groped blindly over a pile of books, most of which fell to the floor, until he found and opened the top drawer. Pricking his finger on something, he located the handcream he kept there to stop the skin of his hands from becoming rougher than necessary. Though Sam claimed to like the sensation around his dick.

Reaching behind him, Kimble slapped the container into Gerard's palm. "Use plenty," he instructed in the tone his surgical team had heard a lot of today. Shivering with excitement, he wondered vaguely what might be digging in his ear. It didn't seem nearly as important as the hands on his buttocks, the jet of lotion cool against his heat. He moaned when a broad finger penetrated him, teasing him before it eased away. Then the slickly anointed head of Gerard's cock was nudging his pulsating anus. In an agony of impatience, Kimble tried to wriggle back.

"Do it, Sam."

"Uh huh," growled a low voice in his ear, Gerard's breath a moist stirring against his skin. "You've given your last order today, doctor."

His cheek flattened against the blotter, his hands clenching over the edges of the desk, and with the sense of Sam Gerard all around him, Kimble gave a soft, broken groan of frustration and tried to move again.

A brisk slap made his left buttock tingle, before Gerard's mouth was there; after a moist kiss, the nip of teeth sent sensation shooting straight to Kimble's cock. All he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing as Gerard's cheek, with its faint trace of stubble, rubbed over his ass again and again, making him shiver. Kimble smiled his satisfaction into the blotter; whether Sam was conscious of it or not, he was scent-marking him.

And he loved it. Loved Sam. Loved the knowledge that he would wear Sam's mark of possession for a couple of days, until the stubble burn faded.

The muscles down his spine rippling as he shifted position slightly, Kimble gave a long, soft sigh of acceptance. "Please, Sam," he breathed, giving himself up to his lover's pleasure without reservation.

Poised above the other man, savoring the moment, Gerard's thumbs parted the cheeks of his lover's butt. Already centered, he sank all the way home in one long, sure movement.

Just retaining an awareness of where he was, Kimble muffled his wail of pleasure with a clenched fist. His only leverage coming from his other hand, which was still clenched over the edge of the desk, he was almost wholly dependent on Gerard, who was plastered against him by this time, hips snapping as he fucked him with long, deliberate strokes that took him over and over again. Sam was growling in his ear, marking him with teeth and hands.

Revelling in every second of his possession, Kimble let Gerard do whatever he wanted with him. The sense of freedom which came from letting go was like nothing he had known before and he abandoned himself to it as he was rocked by the powerful pace set by his lover. He finally shuddered to a climax encased in the tunnel of flesh provided by Gerard's hand. Then Sam was coming.

Gasping like a stranded fish, Kimble's eyes were wide and blank, his parted mouth against the blotter, dampening it. As boneless as if he had been filetted, he could not have moved if his life had depended on it. Gerard's wide fingers, which were capable of such delicacy and tenderness, cradled the back of his skull and Kimble managed to murmur his lover's name in a combination of affirmation and reassurance. Spent, Sam remained within him, his weight pressing him into the desk while his mouth grazed across the sweat-damp skin of his lover's shoulders.

Eventually, as if regaining some sense of where he was, Gerard stirred. Kimble heard the small sucking sound as the other man eased from his body, then became aware of a chill down his length where his lover had been. For an illogical moment he resented the separation. Slow caresses stroked down his spine, flanks and thighs before Gerard began to clean them both with his handkerchief.

"Richard?" he said at last, one hand still cupping Kimble's rump. "You need to move."

"That's easy for you to say. A simple 'hello' would have got my attention," Kimble pointed out as he was eased off the desk and onto his feet, his hands going to the small of his back. He was vaguely surprised to discover that his legs would hold him. While he tried to sound stern his mouth refused to cooperate, insisting on sliding into the goofy grin of the thoroughly and gloriously fucked.

"I'll try and remember that for next time," Gerard promised him. Something in his expression softened even more. "Jeez, you're so damn - " His hand moved in a gesture eloquent of the impossibility of putting what he felt into words.

" - easy?" supplied Kimble, flippant to rescue Gerard from embarrassment.

"That too," Gerard conceded. Every guard down, he gave one of his slow, blindingly sweet smiles.

Kimble felt his toes curl.

Gerard began to draw up his shorts; when they reached the top of his thighs a hand at his wrist stopped him from pulling them on fully.

"Not for a moment. I want to look at you first," said Kimble huskily.

When he recognized the expression in Richard's eyes Gerard forgot to breathe for a moment. He was fiercely proud of, if yet to take for granted, his ability to make the other man happy.

With the very tips of his fingers Kimble traced the pale skin just above the thick, coarse hair at Gerard's groin, wonderfully vivid against the blue-veined skin. "You have a beautiful dick," he murmured, before he brushed the side of the other man's mouth with his hand.

Gerard pressed a kiss to the fleshy mound of Venus at the base of Kimble's thumb, then blinked when he took in his lover's appearance for the first time.

"You've got ink all over your face," he discovered, his voice gruff. "Hold still." He began to scrub at Kimble's right cheek with a far from clean handkerchief, holding the other man's chin to keep his head in place. When that had no effect he spat on the fabric to moisten it.

"That's gross," Kimble complained mildly, steadying himself by taking a light hold of the other man's flanks.

"Then you spit," Gerard invited, extending the handkerchief.

"It's OK. If saliva's my only option I'd rather have yours. This will teach me to go round leaving open ink-pads on my desk," said Kimble philosophically, his fingers drifting down to tickle the underside of Gerard's butt. "Not that I'm complaining, but is there any particular reason why I'm standing bare-assed in my own office?"

"Maybe you're a pervert," Gerard offered, taking a step back so he could check Richard's face for inky smudges.

"There is that," Kimble conceded. "I'm certainly kinky for you. I must be. I've never let anyone else rub spit and god knows what else into my face. That handkerchief is in a disgusting state. Put it out of its misery and throw it away."

"I will, as soon as we get home," promised Gerard. "You want one of the cleaners to see it in this state?"

Studying it, Kimble conceded the point with a grin of comprehension. "You could be right. As usual," he anticipated. "Damn, but that was hot." He flexed his back with caution.

"I know." Gerard ran his finger down the other man's now clean but reddened cheek.

Kimble flinched.

"Wuss," mocked Gerard, licking along that lush lower lip that had been his downfall on a number of occasions.

"I can be a wuss if I want to," murmured Kimble, his breath mingling with Gerard's where they stood so close.

"Anything you say, darlin'." The drawl was pronounced, the accent thick enough to cut with a knife.

Drawing back slightly so he could continue to hold his lover's gaze with his own, Kimble took a firm grip of Gerard's testicles. "Take that back."

Gerard peered pensively down at himself. "They won't retract any further. That wasn't a challenge," he added hastily, recognizing the mischievous glint in the hazel eyes.

"Chicken," accused Kimble fondly, yet to relax his grip.

"You bet," Gerard told him, bending his head to nuzzle Kimble's ear. "Boy, your hands are getting rough."

"Too much for you?" Kimble teased, releasing the testicles to palm a silken buttock before patting it with a gentle, almost absent-minded pleasure.

"I guess I'll survive," Gerard allowed, before he gave a small grin. "You've got a string of three paperclips dangling from the back of your ear. Hold still."

"And a sore belly," grumbled Kimble as he gingerly rubbed the reddened welt inflicted by the edge of the desk.

To his astonishment Gerard murmured something too soft for him to catch and dropped to his knees in front of him.

Kneading Kimble's wonderful ass with his palms as he steadied him, Gerard mouthed along the welt, sucking at the slight soreness before bathing it with saliva. Taking his time, he savored every second.

Kimble gave a shuddering sigh, his fingers lightly brushing Gerard's hair. "Don't. You know how it makes me feel when you kneel for me."

Pausing, Gerard stared up at him through his lashes for what seemed like a very long time, until Kimble began to fidget, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

"Of course I know," Gerard said softly, planting a valedictory kiss on Kimble's navel before he rose to his feet.

Ten minutes later both men were fully dressed, and the office showed no sign of what had taken place there.

 

As Gerard slid onto the passenger seat of the Corvette, Kimble gave him a curious look. "Where's the Ferrari? I could have sworn you drove off in it this morning."

"I lent it to Noah."

Easing into the flow of traffic, Kimble wore a slight, smug smile.

Gerard flicked him a shifty look. "What are you grinning about?" he growled, on the defensive.

"Nothing, Sam. Nothing."

"Well, it's not like I needed it tonight."

"Absolutely not," Kimble agreed, his grin broadening.

"And it - Why the hell am I justifying myself to you?" Gerard demanded with disgust.

"I can't imagine," said Kimble blandly. "But don't stop, I'm enjoying the novelty."

Gerard chose to ignore that. "The kid's obviously had the stuffing knocked out of him. He's still moping round the office, driving everyone crazy. I figured it couldn't hurt, OK?"

Kimble patted a lean thigh. "It's fine by me, Sam. I'm not the one who's turning into a wuss."

"I blame it all on you." Gerard slid down on his seat, glaring moodily through the windshield.

"That figures. What's Noah's problem? He get caught treble-dating again?"

Gerard shrugged. "It's a mystery. He hasn't mentioned anyone in an age. In fact he's been kind of quiet all round."

"Jenny Turner really singed his feathers, didn't she," mused Kimble.

"Bumped his pride, that's all," dismissed Gerard authoritively.

Kimble accepted that judgement without question. "Maybe he's in love," he said flippantly.

Gerard's eyebrows rose. "Noah?"

"It can happen," Kimble pointed out in a voice as bland as warm milk.

His head turning, Gerard's smile was a caress. "So they tell me." Glancing back out of the windshield, he asked, "Where we going?"

"Wherever you want," said Kimble cheerfully. "But I'm starving. And a couple of weeks ago I booked us a table at Georgio's. For tonight."

"Excellent. Or it would have been," Gerard added. "Unless you booked us in late someone else is wining and dining in style. It's just past ten."

"Damn. Some lucky bastard is eating that thing I like so much."

"You mean that thing who's name you always forget?" mocked Gerard affectionately.

Kimble had taken steps to head out of the city center. "Don't get smart. I blame the fact we're so late on you."

"No surprise there. Of course it's my fault you had to operate late," agreed Gerard.

"So what happened in my office - ?" prompted Kimble.

"Hey, I was quick," protested Gerard, before he appreciated what he had said, glimpsed Richard's quivering mouth and began to laugh. "Some recommendation, huh?"

"That's all right. I'm used to it," said Kimble, confident he would escape retribution while he was driving.

He failed to allow for his lover's excellent memory.


	2. OLD HABITS

Stretched out on the bed, supported by banked pillows and with his linked hands folded over his belly, Kimble was a happy man. Rain splattered against the windows, driven there by the April wind, and he wriggled his toes with sheer contentment.

Life was sweet.

The sound of the rain grew heavier, the wind howling around the corner of the house. Snug under the goosedown comforter, Kimble's thoughts began to drift.

This was nice. Hell, this was great. Perfect. His own private floorshow.

Because going to bed - to sleep - at the same time wasn't something he and Gerard did every night, it had taken him a while to appreciate that the dynamic Sam Gerard, well-known fire-eater and leaper of tall buildings was, if left to his own devices, inclined to amble around aimlessly for up to forty minutes while he supposedly got ready for bed. The more stressful his day had been, the more likely it was that his usual crisp efficiency would melt away, leaving behind a man whose brain was very obviously disengaged as he unwound from the tensions of the day.

Kimble gazed after the half-undressed figure as Gerard criss-crossed the room to no discernible purpose. Sam had been wandering around in nothing but his black shorts and unfastened white shirt for a good ten minutes already. Not that Kimble was complaining. The less Sam wore, the more handsome the view.

Handsome? Kimble frowned. He never said handsome. But Sam did.

It sounded natural when he said it. The same easy way he turned 'shit' into a three-syllable word. Or the unselfconscious grace with which he would dance around the kitchen while he made pancakes to die for. So damn graceful. The only mystery was how all that grace deserted Sam when he tried to do DIY jobs around the house. His IQ descended to his shoe size and he hacked pieces out of himself every time he tried to become a handyman, displaying a terrifying disregard for the most basic of safety procedures. This from a guy for whom safety was a way of life.

Kimble followed the passage of shapely bare legs with an absent appreciation. Useless around the house, but what did that matter when Sam had a smile that lit up like - like - Well, it was one hell of a smile.

The ass was fine, too. And the legs and the feet and - Boy, did he have it bad, he admitted, pursing his lips in recognition of his hopeless state. Certain that he would be able to think of some portion of his lover that didn't meet with his unqualified approval, he abandoned hope when even Sam's elbows passed muster.

As Gerard crossed the room for the sixth time, still holding the tie he had gone into the closet to hang up five minutes ago, Kimble gave the oblivious figure a fond smile. This disorganised meandering would probably drive him crazy one day, but for now it was a ritual to be treasured. It had the added bonus of offering the perfect chance to study another facet of the man he loved - one that few people were privileged to see.

The ass was more than fine, it was fantastic, he decided, grinning happily when it twitched past him just before Sam disappeared into the bathroom.

He reappeared within a short space of time, as usual leading with his groin; his walk betrayed the unstudied grace that was his physical hallmark and which stemmed from damn near perfect balance. Kimble barely stifled a soft groan of pleasure as he enjoyed the way Sam filled out the front of those shorts. Oh my. Beautiful from the front, or the back. He was spoilt for choice.

It was a while before his lust-filled gaze rose high enough to see that Gerard now had a toothbrush stuck in the corner of his mouth; it waggled as he hummed 'Werewolves of London' under his breath.

Happy to take the credit for his lover's contented state, Kimble looked smug.

Oh yes, he mused, wriggling his toes again. Life was sweet. They would make love soon - presuming Sam was in the mood. He gave a snort of amusement. Lucky for him, Sam was always in the mood.

On his next journey Gerard managed to lose the tie he had been carrying but gain a sock, which was odd given that he had been barefoot ever since he came home.

Kimble watched as the heap of small change the other man had produced from nowhere settled itself on the top of the chest of drawers. A quarter rolled down until it hit the heart-stone. Kimble's expression softened as he looked at the stone. Found by Sam and kept until he should find his one true love. Handed to him with a brusque 'Here' and a shy half-smile to melt your soul. What chance had he stood against that?

To be loved by Sam Gerard was really something. And it just got better and better.

Wearing a fatuous smile, Kimble refocussed to find Gerard standing at the end of the bed, deep in thought. He couldn't help wishing Sam would stop waggling that toothbrush in such a suggestive way, particularly as it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing - in any sense of the word.

As if receiving some secret message, Gerard set off for the bathroom again. Taps ran, a cistern flushed, the shower hissed, water splattering down, and Kimble became quite optimistic that Sam might come to bed before the millennium.

He whistled his appreciation when Sam came back into the room, minus the sock, the toothbrush, his remaining clothes and the vacant expression he had worn for the last twenty-five minutes.

"You're looking kind of lively," Gerard noted as he got into bed. "I thought you were going to have an early night?" His index finger idly circled his lover's navel.

"So did I," said Kimble cheerfully. "Then I started to watch you. Feel like making out?"

Gerard considered the proposition for a good three seconds. "No, I don't think so," he said, straight-faced.

The expression of ludicrous dismay on Richard's face made him resolve to buy one of those idiot-proof instamatic cameras. He gave a gratified grin, just before the breath whooshed out of his lungs when Kimble jumped him. Putting up just enough resistance to make it interesting, Gerard made his lover work for his victory before he went limp, pinned under the other man.

Breathing heavily, Kimble's triumphant grin slowly faded. Swooping down, he gave Gerard a possessive kiss. "One of these days I'm going to best you for real," he promised, his fingers absently framing his lover's strong throat.

Gerard patted him on the rump, seeing no need to move his hand afterwards. "Of course you are. Keep up the weight-training, workout more and who knows what you might achieve."

Kimble gave him a brooding look. "You'll see. And when I do, I'll expect confirmation in writing."

Gerard's slow smile was calculated to irritate more saintly souls than his lover. "Richard, you best me and I'll give you a damn certificate."

"Don't think I won't frame it," Kimble promised, baring his teeth.

In no doubt on that score, because he was learning all about his lover's stubborn streak, Gerard maintained a prudent silence on the subject as he continued to cup Kimble's rump. "Now I've succeeded in pissing you off, how would you feel about settling belly down on that vacant spot just here - " he patted the mattress " - so I can give your ass the attention it deserves?"

"Trust me, you don't want to hear," said Kimble, a decidedly sulky set to his mouth.

"OK." Giving a faint, wistful sigh, Gerard allowed his hands to slide away and gazed up from under his lashes at the man looming over him.

Kimble glared at him. "And that's not going to work. Give me one good reason why I should."

Gerard gave the smallest of smiles. "Because holding out will hurt you just as much as it will hurt me. Besides, you know I'll make it good for you," he murmured, not touching the other man with anything but his eyes.

Making a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, Kimble gave in gracefully.

***

Gerard had been swearing under his breath in Spanish ever since he leapt out of bed, having discovered he had overslept.

"If you hadn't switched off the alarm clock, this wouldn't have happened," Kimble pointed out with the irritating calm of a man who had a free morning ahead of him.

"Are you _trying_ to aggravate me or does it come naturally?" enquired Gerard as he continued to scrabble through the chest of drawers. He swung around, his arms outflung. "And where are all my socks? I know I had a pair left and - "

"They were your only pair?" interrupted Kimble.

It didn't take any wondrous feat of detection to work out where the socks had gone, even for Gerard before he had ingested his first dose of caffeine.

"Damn it, Richard," he exploded. "Why the hell can't you wear your own clothes for a change? They're my shorts you've got on, too," he noted, his voice rising.

"Lighten up, Sam. It's only underwear."

"My underwear. My clean underwear. Or what was left of it. Where's the laundry? It was your turn to drop it off at the - Don't tell me," accused Gerard. "You forgot again."

"I've got used to Theresa doing it. You must have one pair of clean socks and shorts," said Kimble, neatly passing the buck.

Gerard was having none of it. "I do. On you. Damn-it-to-hell, I hate wearing yesterday's clothes. I don't have time to stop off to buy fresh stuff because I've got this fucking meeting and I need to wear a suit."

Having forgotten he was still bare foot, Gerard kicked the bottom drawer of the chest shut, swearing colorfully and fluently in Spanish when he paid the price. Hopping theatrically, his dark eyes were snapping with temper as he went on to cause havoc in their closet.

Kimble envied Sam this safety-valve. During his years with Helen he had learnt to clamp down on his anger, never giving it release because it frightened her so, much as she tried to hide it. That had been the legacy of her childhood and adolescence, during which she had endured year upon year of mental and physical abuse from her parents. Strange that wealthy socialites weren't supposed to be abused - or abusers. But the pattern of his own behavior had been set during the nineteen years he and Helen had been together, reinforced during his imprisonment. Since then he had worked to defeat the anger which still seethed under the surface, much as he tried to deny it. But he rarely let it slip. It got ugly when he lost control. And he hated doing that. And himself. The only times he had lost his temper with Sam, he had hurt him. He wouldn't let that happen again.

His expression softened as he saw that his companion was still quivering with outrage, energy spilling from him like froth from a shaken can of soda.

Kimble found excuses to stay and watch the show. Sam full of fizzing histrionics and sweeping gestures was irresistible. While he would never admit it to the other man, he loved these temper tantrums which sprang from minor irritations. Starting in seconds, they were over almost as quickly, leaving Sam sunny-tempered and everyone around him as energized as if the tantrum had been theirs.

"You mind telling me what the hell's amusing you so much?" growled Gerard, his fists propped on his non-existent hips. Given that he was still naked, the effect was too enjoyable to be daunting.

Kimble resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss the just hardened dick. Instead, he peeled off the socks and shorts he was wearing. "Here, have these. I've only worn them for five minutes."

"Then you'll have to wear dirty clothes."

Kimble gave him a tolerant look. "Get a grip, Sam. They're not exactly encrusted with sweat. I've got the morning free. I'll buy us some fresh supplies before I go in, OK?"

"I guess." Still grumbling under his breath, Gerard began to dress, shooting suspicious looks at his companion from time to time. "Will you stop looking at me like that," he complained eventually. "I'll get a complex."

"I was just thinking. The last time you got this mad you kicked over that bottle of red wine and ruined the rug. Which reminds me - "

"Don't," warned Gerard. "This morning definitely isn't the time to remind me about that damn rug. Fuck it, I hate disciplinary meetings," he muttered, slumping onto the edge of the bed to stare at the floor.

Kimble sat next to him. At least that explained Sam's untypical behavior in switching off the alarm - and why he'd been kind of quiet the last few days. Not to mention the displacement activity just now. "You haven't mentioned that before," he said quietly. It wasn't a surprise. Sam was only just starting to tell him the important things - not from a lack of trust, but simply because the habit of confidentiality was so engrained. And even now it was usually only the comedic moments he shared. He was too used to being the person people came to for help and support for it to occur to him that he was entitled to expect the same from his lover as a right.

Gerard rubbed the back of his neck. "Remember the actor who skipped bail that we had to bring in? One of my kids sold the 'inside' story to the press. It's no one you know," he added, correctly interpreting Kimble's appalled expression.

"I'm glad. What time's the meeting?"

"Not until eleven," Gerard admitted, staring at his hands. "But I thought if I checked her file I might find some reason - " He looked up with an impatient grimace. "Listen to me. Who am I kidding? There's no excuse for what she did. She's only been with the department five months but I thought she was beginning to shape up." He looked at the man at his side. "Aren't you going to tell me it's dumb to take it personally?"

Kimble nudged him with his shoulder. "No point. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. Forget hurrying in. We're going to share a tub, have some breakfast, and go shopping. Then you'll go to the meeting and do what you have to do."

"You don't have to humor me," growled Gerard, on the defensive.

"I know I don't. But as your lover I'm entitled to pamper you occasionally and you just have to put up with it. So stop complaining and let me get on with it. What she did isn't your responsibility, Sam," Kimble added gently.

Gerard gave him a quizzical look. "I'm supervising deputy. They pay me to know what's going on in my department. One bad apple taints us all. Ah, the hell with it. Go to work. I'm not fit company."

"No, you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself," retorted Kimble.

His head shooting back up, Gerard glared at him before he gave the faintest, most reluctant of grins. "That's my Richard."

Kimble held his gaze. "Whatever else might happen you can rely on that," he said steadily.

Gerard's expression softened. Collecting up his companion's hand, he absently nuzzled the palm. "I guess you haven't noticed, I do. Come on. We've already showered. We'll grab breakfast in town, then shop. Who knows, I might even buy that damn rug."

"I won't hold my breath," said Kimble dryly.

***

 

Wondering why his paperwork seemed to increase despite the extensive use of computers in the department, Renfro gave a weighty sigh, took a sip of long-cold coffee and reapplied himself until the sound of Newman's voice cut through his concentration.

"Sam, have you forgotten the press conference? Only they're waiting for you."

"Thanks, Noah."

Alerted by something in Gerard's voice, Renfro looked up to see the other man shrugging into a dark blue jacket as he headed in the direction of the double glass doors which led to the press room. Just outside, Gerard paused, his shoulders going back and his chin up. It occurred to Renfro that the other man looked as if he was preparing for battle.

 

Having gone to the game with Kathy, Kimble got back to find Poole had made herself at home in the living-room. Sipping coffee, she was reading a file with the television on. She looked up with a smile.

"Hi, Richard. Sam gave me his key. He should be along in an hour or so. He said to make myself - " She broke off to snatch up the remote.

Alerted, Kimble stopped her from switching channels as he stared at the television screen. Gerard was holding a press conference on the local news channel but it was his private life the press were questioning him about so avidly. Stone-faced, Gerard's subdued voice was without color as he repeated 'I have no comment to make about my private life'. His emotions totally under his control, there was a quiet dignity about him which made Kimble's heart swell with pride, even while anger smouldered in his eyes.

Twitching the remote from Poole's clasp, he flicked off the television and tossed the control on to the couch. He stood above her to begin his interrogation, his face stern. "Does that happen often?"

Poole gave him a level look, although her manner was deliberately non-confrontational. "If the case isn't juicy enough and there's no other interesting news," she said calmly.

Kimble ran a hand over his hair as he paced, his tension needing a quick release. "Damn it, Sam shouldn't have to put up with this kind of shit because of me," he grated, frustration at his inability to do anything about it tightening the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

"He would probably say the same about you," Poole pointed out in a level tone.

Kimble shot her a fierce look. "How did you know they've hassled me?"

"Roger was nursing the Senator."

"Oh, right." Looking suddenly tired, Kimble sank onto the couch. "I'd forgotten he was around for that circus. It made things kind of interesting."

"The Senator being a homophobe, I'll just bet it did." Poole leant forward to pour Kimble some coffee, automatically adding the right amount of milk. Gerard's best team combined an eye for detail with an excellent memory. "Have you told Sam?" she added, taking advantage of the moment.

"Of course not. I'm used to it," Kimble added absently. He was too preoccupied to notice her wince. "You won't tell him? Sorry, I wasn't thinking," he added immediately. "I know you won't. So when are you going to put Roger out of his misery and let him take you to that tropical paradise he's been talking about?"

Poole had the wisdom to accept both the change of subject and incursion into her private life. While Richard's methods were different from Sam's, he had his own way of getting his point across.

 

His face set and pale by the time he emerged from the press conference, Gerard strode back through the open-plan office, which was almost empty by this time.

On a slow burn on the other man's behalf, Renfro wondered when the press were going to find some new source of entertainment. Not that Sam ever gave them anything, but a few couldn't resist trying - particularly if Sam had been even less help to them than usual with what they saw as a juicy news item.

"Sam, Marshal Howard for you on line three," called Newman.

"Thanks. It's Saturday evening, go home. Better still, go out," Gerard added, reaching for the receiver on Renfro's desk.

"What does the boss man want with you, Sam?"

"Well, gee, Cosmo, why don't you ask him?" snapped Gerard, turning away slightly as he picked up the receiver, his shoulder unconsciously hunching.

He said little during the call. Seeing the flinty look in his eyes, Renfro knew it hadn't been good news.

"Problem?" he asked directly, when Gerard hung up.

"Relax. Our budget's already agreed," Gerard reminded him. "I'm going to see Howard."

Renfro nodded as if that was a usual occurrence. "I thought I'd hang on for a while and catch up on some paperwork," he lied, reminding himself to ring Caroline to warn her he would be home late.

"This is a worrying departure from the norm. When did you get so dedicated to paperwork?" While Gerard gave the predicted grin, it was forced and he moved off without waiting for Renfro to reply.

"Trouble?" enquired Newman, drifting over to Renfro's desk with a seeming aimlessness.

Having watched Gerard head for the stairs, Renfro rubbed his lower lip as he refocussed on the younger man. "Just routine paperwork," he replied absently.

"I was talking about Sam," said Newman patiently.

It didn't occur to Renfro to prevaricate with the younger man as he would have done with most people in the department. "Maybe. Howard called him in. Just after Sam came out of the press conference."

Newman grimaced. "I don't understand why Sam lets them get away with it." He sounded disillusioned.

Renfro gave him a sharp-eyed look but swallowed the first retort which sprang to mind. "Think about it, Noah. Sam doesn't have a choice. He doesn't go in there as an individual but as Sam Gerard, supervising deputy and federal employee. Which means he has to stand there and let them drag everything he feels for Richard through the shit every time news is slack."

"Can't we do something?"

"What do you suggest?" asked Renfro, not unkindly.

"All right, dumb thing to say, but I hate seeing Sam like this," muttered Newman, running a hand back over his hair.

"And you think the rest of us don't? The best we can do for him is to ensure the department runs like clockwork. It wouldn't hurt if we could have a quiet spell so he can drop out of the public eye for a while. Until then we do what we can. I told Sam I'd be working late," Renfro added casually.

"Weren't you supposed to be taking Caroline out to that restaurant Robert recommended?"

"Shit! Yes. We're celebrating the fact her mother's put off her visit for a couple of months. Go away," commanded Renfro, looking seriously harried. "I've gotta do some serious apologizing and it won't be good for my image if you hear me grovel."

Grinning, Newman went home.

 

Emerging from the john, still fiddling with his zip, Renfro made a mental note to get Caroline to look at this pair of pants. He was going back to wearing jeans to work. They were a hell of a lot more practical, comfortable, too. Mildly surprised, he saw that lights had been switched off around his desk, leaving the entire office in darkness. It was too early for the cleaners. Besides, he'd only been gone five minutes or so. Well, maybe fifteen while he checked on the sports pages.

Then he saw the outline of the man standing by the floor to ceiling plate glass window, staring out on the city below.

"Hi, Sammy. Howard didn't keep you for long." Renfro bustled over to Gerard, pretending not to notice how the other man had flinched at the sound of his voice.

"I thought you'd left." The usually flexible voice sounded lifeless and flat.

"Not me. I'm bucking for promotion," said Renfro cheerfully.

Exhaling slowly, Gerard flexed his neck. "Can you spare me a few minutes?"

"Sure thing," said Renfro immediately. Sam's face looked pinched and set and there was a sense of immense control capping a temper which the other man rarely lost, for all his tantrums. "You want a coffee while we talk?"

Gerard shook his head.

"Tell me what you need," said Renfro, his support unquestioning.

Recognizing as much, Gerard exhaled again and sank onto the chair behind his desk to stare at his outstretched legs. "I need advice I can trust. I know I can rely on you to give me a straight answer."

"You bet."

Gerard looked up, direct and intimidating, to assess his companion's reaction. "Do you think I'm bringing the Marshals Service into disrepute?"

That the last question he had expected to be asked, Renfro's surprise was obvious before he gave a grimace of disgust. "This comes from that asshole Howard, I suppose?"

The muscles around his eyes tightening, Gerard nodded. "I was clearly invited to resign for the good of the department. While I refused, it got me to thinking. Some might say not before time. I need to know. This stuff about Richard and me. Is it hurting the department?"

"Howard's been trying to get rid of you since he was appointed marshal. He resents you like hell because he wouldn't know how to spell integrity never mind possess any."

"At least he's never used the resources of the department for his own benefit."

"And you have?" Disbelief echoed in Renfro's voice.

"Last winter. Those attacks on Richard. That wasn't department business. Howard wasn't the only one who thought my taking Richard into my home was -‘inappropriate behavior’." Gerard's mouth twisted. "I lost it for a while back there, Cosmo. I know that."

Comprehension narrowed Renfro's eyes. "Did you receive an official reprimand over that?"

"I deserved it." Gerard sounded tired.

"No, you didn't," said Renfro, at his most certain. "Maybe it was 'inappropriate behavior' but you saved Richard's life and got a psycho off the streets. If any of us had come to you with the story you would have taken exactly the same action - except maybe the part about letting whoever it might be stay at your home."

"It doesn't matter now," dismissed Gerard. "I did it. And if Richard and I had gone our separate ways there wouldn't have been too much of a problem. But we didn't. We became lovers and set up home together and because of our history we're 'newsworthy'." From the set of his face there could have been a particularly unpleasant reek under his nose. "It's ironic. The only reason I'm still employed is because Howard won't risk accusations of discriminating against me because of my sexuality. That really pissed him off."

"I just bet it did," said Renfro absently, his gaze never leaving the other man. "You're over-reacting."

His mouth thinning, a dangerous glint in his eyes, Gerard glared at him.

"I'm serious," said Renfro, unimpressed. "It's been a few years since anyone's given you a reaming. You're feeling tender because you know some of it was deserved. But to note your file. That's so unfair. You have an exemplary record."

"Had. Moving Richard into my home wasn't acceptable behavior from a man in my position. I knew it then, I just chose not to admit it. The fact it's a jerk like Howard saying it doesn't stop him from being right."

Renfro perched on the corner of the desk. "Give yourself a break. You're human. Even Sam Gerard makes mistakes. Not often, of course. This one saved Richard's life and had the bonus of leaving the pair of you about as happy as two people can get without inhaling illegal substances." Seeing Gerard looking unconvinced, he straightened. "You're not seriously considering resigning?"

Gerard nodded, but did not on this occasion meet Renfro's eyes. "I've worked for the department for too long to want to see its reputation diminished because of anything I've - "

"Whoa, stop right there. You can't resign. If you do it gives Howard the message that you're ashamed of your relationship with Richard." Renfro paused, wary of Gerard's reaction, but he continued to hold that fierce gaze with his own, waiting out the storm. "I can see that resigning is a tempting option. It would be far easier for you to resign and feel misunderstood and unappreciated than to take your lumps, keep your head down and get on with the work you do so well. And it's no good you glaring at me like that. You know I'm right."

"Jesus, Cosmo," complained Gerard, looking pained. "Do you have to enjoy this quite so much?"

All trace of humor left Renfro's face. "If that's what you believe, fuck you."

He moved away so quickly that it was a moment before Gerard thought to go after him. He darted in front of the shorter man but had to dance backwards because Renfro just kept on coming.

"Cosmo, I'm sorry." His hands in front of him in a universal gesture of surrender, Gerard looked genuinely contrite. "Really," he added, when the other man continued to glare at him, although Renfro came to a halt in time to stop Gerard from backing into the coffee machine.

Renfro gave a grudging nod. "So you should be."

"I mean it, Cosmo. I was out of line. I know it's not true."

"Yeah, well." Renfro shrugged and patted Gerard on the arm. "You can be a regular asshole, but you deserve better than Howard. I'm going home. So should you. Are you going to tell Richard?"

"No!"

"It's your decision." Renfro still found it difficult to credit that Howard could have brought Gerard to the point of self-doubt where he seriously believed he should resign. But then if Sam demanded high standards of his people, he led by example; he was always hardest on himself. That realization spurred him to add, "Are you sure you've thought this through?"

"Give me a break," said Gerard kindly. "Stop trying to find excuses for me."

Renfro ignored the interruption. "Only, if you'd stop wearing that hair shirt for a few minutes you'd see the obvious. If Howard _really_ believed you were bringing the department into disrepute, why has he waited all this time? He should have taken action when the news that you and Richard were lovers broke back in March. He's just out to score points the only way he can. And you're letting him. Now go home. In case you've forgotten, you told Poole to wait for you back at the house. She's been expecting you for over an hour and you don't want to get in her bad books."

"She doesn't intimidate me." Gerard caved in under Renfro's openly skeptical look. "Often." Clapping the other man on the shoulder, he gave a brisk nod. "Thanks, Cosmo. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah," said Renfro, embarrassed. "Suck up to me all you like, I'm not facing up to Poole for you. Come on, I'll see you off the premises."

 

Closeted with Poole for longer than he expected because his concentration wasn't all it should be, when she left Gerard barely did more than acknowledge Kimble before he retreated into his office to deal with the list of calls awaiting him.

It was something of a relief to be alone. Doubts about his fitness for command still niggling, Gerard felt raw with humiliation. Howard had so obviously got off on every sanctimonious second. And the idea of that slimy bastard even thinking about what he and Richard -

Don't go that route, he reminded himself grimly.

He tried to apply himself to his work but had only limited success. A knock on his open door made him look up, impatient with any distraction, to see Richard smiling at him.

"I'm going to bed," Kimble announced, his hands in his pockets as he lounged at his ease.

"So go. You don't need to announce the fact every night."

Taken aback, Kimble blinked, his smile becoming fixed as he straightened where he stood. "Right. I guess I thought - It doesn't matter." He was already in retreat as Gerard sprang up from his chair.

"Damn it, Richard, I didn't mean that the way it must have sounded."

"It's OK," Kimble reassured him. "It was bad timing on my part while you're so busy." He was already recovering from that verbal knee in the balls because he understood why Sam had snapped at him; he didn't appreciate being disturbed in the middle of something himself.

"It's only a backlog of paperwork. Nothing that can't wait," dismissed Gerard roughly, assessing the damage he might have done.

One hand resting on Gerard's shoulder, Kimble gave it a squeeze. "That's one hell of a backlog," he noted, studying the three, foot-high piles on the desk. "Go back to work. I'll keep."

While he returned Kimble's smile, Gerard remained in the doorway, staring after his lover, long after he had disappeared upstairs. About to follow him, Gerard swore with quiet feeling when the telephone rang. By the time he was able to get away Kimble was asleep, neatly curled on his side of the bed.

Soon after Gerard slid next to him, Kimble rolled onto his side, automatically moving to accommodate his lover without ever waking up. Richard's heat against the length of his body and with warm breath gusting down his neck, Gerard stared out into the darkness, some of the raw smart he had been feeling all evening receding. However inappropriate his behavior, he couldn't regret it. Let Howard have his moment. He had Richard.

***

Gerard's reaction the previous night having hit home, Kimble made a conscious decision to break himself of the habit that clearly irritated Sam. He was given no chance to test his resolve because by the time he got back to the house Gerard was soundly asleep.

After working off some of his adrenaline in the gym, he had a leisurely shower, grabbing the bathrobe nearest to him as he emerged because he had forgotten to collect a clean towel. A faint waft of perfume made him frown before he realized the robe was Ginny's, which still hung alongside Sam's and his own. Giving it a glare of resentment, he slung it back on the hook and deliberately pulled on the floor-length black bathrobe he had bought for Sam.

Soothed by the scent of the other man which clung to it, he was about to go to bed when he remembered that their maid, Theresa, still had three days of her vacation left. Giving a hard-done-by sigh, he cleared away the mess he had made, collected clean towels for the morning and paused to check he hadn't forgotten anything. Noticing they were almost out of toilet tissue he crossed to the waist-high storage cupboard. The door awkwardly sited between the john and the wall, he crouched down and peered inside, wondering what else might be there. Initially his haul was disappointing; the rest of the pack of toilet tissue, cleaning agents, cloths and rubber gloves, spare shampoo, shaving foam and shower gel. Then he saw the large cardboard box tucked behind all that and dragged it out, curious to see what it contained.

Sitting on the carpet in the center of the room, his face tightened as he sorted through the items he had tipped from the box. Two half-full packs of Tampax Super, enough make-up to stock a counter in a department store, another healthy assortment of expensive toiletries, and perfume - the scent of which still clung to the dark blue bathrobe hanging on the back of their door. At the bottom of the box sat one lone earring, a long diamond and sapphire drop, and a half-used foil strip of the Pill. He gave the contraceptives an angry push with his index finger, unmollified when he saw they were two years out of date. Left with little choice, he finally acknowledged his jealousy of the woman who had known Sam since he was fourteen and who had been his lover since he was sixteen.

And who still had a place in Sam's life.

Wondering how many more reminders of Ginny there might be around the house, he returned her possessions to the box and pointedly left it on the side of the tub. Let Sam decide what to do with it.

Shrugging out of Gerard's bathrobe, he made a point of hanging it over his own, leaving Ginny's robe alone on the adjoining hook. He recognized what he had done only when he felt the surge of satisfaction. While he shook his head at his behavior, he made no attempt to move the robe but went into the bedroom. Residual resentment dropping away, he studied the sleeping man. Sprawled on his belly, Sam's head was turned toward him, as if he had fallen asleep waiting for him to come to bed; his unguarded face had a vulnerable look, heightened by the downsweep of those ridiculously long eyelashes. Intensely and completely masculine, he was the kind of man people instinctively turned to for help and comfort, which he gave unstintingly. But to know he was the one Sam was learning to come to - Nothing could equal the satisfaction that knowledge gave him. Nothing.

Small wonder Ginny was so reluctant to let him go, Kimble conceded, just before he raised his chin. Sam was his.

Surprised by the possessiveness of the thought, he blinked and made a conscious effort to relax the stern set of his mouth. Sam was his, heart and soul. He knew that. He just hoped Ginny wouldn't need to be reminded of the fact.

Shivering, because he had cooled down in the short time he had been standing by the side of the bed, he took his usual amount of care not to wake Gerard as he slid in beside his lover. Snuggling under the covers, he wondered why the hot weather was so long arriving this year as he inhaled clean, Gerard-scented air. Home, he thought with sleepy satisfaction.

Seconds later, without ever really waking, Gerard stirred and reached out to draw Kimble within the protection of a possessive arm. Experience having taught Kimble that the embrace would ease within a few minutes, he smiled to himself and gave a contented wriggle before he sank into sleep within that comforting band of flesh.

***

Gerard began to wonder if there was a conspiracy to bury him in paperwork. Its volume was such that he spent the next four evenings doggedly working through it in his office. It was his penance for spending so much time in the field. In theory, the job at his level of seniority was that of an administrator and supervisor. He'd just never seen why he should limit himself, even if it meant he ended up doing the work of two people.

It was only when he sat dazed with fatigue, rubbing at his gritty-feeling eyes, that it occurred to him that there had been no reason for him to work this late. A hell of a backlog had built up while he'd been away on the Lascar case, not helped by working nine to five afterwards so he could spend some time with Richard. However, none of the paperwork had been urgent.

He had just managed to ease some of the knots in his stiffened neck when he tensed. With a sickening internal lurch he realized the reason he had worked so late the past four nights was because he had been waiting for Richard to come and say goodnight, as he always did. Correction, as Richard had done. Until his outburst the other evening, when Richard had paid Howard's tab.

Shutting down the computer, Gerard went upstairs. Pausing only to strip, urinate and clean his teeth, he slid into bed and glanced at his companion. While Richard didn't announce the fact, it was obvious he was awake.

"I thought you would have been asleep a couple of hours ago," Gerard said into the darkness. He was close enough to see the other man shrug in the gloom.

"It happens sometimes. You know that." Kimble didn't add that he'd stayed awake because he still felt uncomfortable about not having said goodnight, as if he had snubbed the man he loved. Strange to discover how important a meaningless little ritual could be. "You were working late."

Gerard studied his lover as he ran his index finger along the sun-lightened hair on Kimble's forearm. "Tell me about it. I lost track of time. I guess that subconsciously I was waiting for you to stop by and tell me you were going to bed. I've got used to you doing that since we've been living together. You just caught me at a bad time the other evening. I didn't mean it. Jeez, I'm a dumb bastard," he groaned, chagrin on his face. "It only just occurred to me, I've always told you if I'm going to bed before you, haven't I."

Not sure where this was leading, Kimble gave a cautious nod.

Gerard propped himself up on one arm. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked, mildly exasperated.

Even the gloom couldn't disguise the fact that Kimble's unforced smile was full of love. "There was no need. If you can adapt to me bouncing around first thing in the morning, I can get used to this. Like I said, it's just a habit."

"A good one," said Gerard gruffly. "It's kind of nice. Like being a Walton," he added a beat later.

There was a surge of movement before a solid weight landed on him.

All mock-aggression, Kimble pinned him down, his face only inches away. "Take that back."

His burden reduced by the fact his lover was taking most of his weight on his knees, Gerard gave an aggravating little wriggle. "Make me, John-Boy."

Kimble had never been able to resist a challenge.

***

"It's lucky I'm only lecturing today," remarked Kimble, heavy-eyed and lethargic the following morning. He poured himself a third cup of coffee when the first two failed to ignite his sluggish system. "How about you?"

Gerard mumbled something incomprehensible, his head jerking when his elbow almost slipped off the edge of the table.

"Well that tells me all I need to know." Getting up to make more coffee, Kimble paused to kiss the top of Gerard's head.

When he judged his companion to be in a state to hear him, he repeated the question.

"I guess I'll be lecturing too," said Gerard through a yawn. "I've noticed some sloppy procedures creep in during the last few weeks. It's time to rein them in. Let them see some teeth. Jeez, it's going to be dull," he sighed.

"Never when you're around," Kimble assured him, wishing he could be there to see Big Dog at work. "You have many faults but being boring isn't - "

Because he was closest, he broke off what he had been saying to answer the ringing telephone. All expression draining from his face, he quietly replaced the receiver, then unplugged the phone.

"We need to change the number again?" asked Gerard. He was so accustomed to the obscene calls which had started after the press had first broken the news that he and Kimble were lovers, that they no long angered him.

"I'll see to it," said Kimble, finding the other man's resignation more hurtful than his rage would ever be. Sam shouldn't have to put up with this because of him.

"Jenna will do it. And more efficiently than either of us," Gerard added wryly. "I'm hungry."

"Me, too. Eggs over easy, hash browns, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms in garlic?"

"Sold," said Gerard promptly, looking more wakeful by the second.

"Great. Then get going. It's your turn," Kimble reminded him, hard-hearted because if he didn't take a stand he knew he would spoil Sam.

Gerard gave him a disillusioned look but got to his feet without further protest. He was singing 'Three Hundred Pounds of Joy' under his breath by the time he raided the chiller section of the refrigerator.

Having been indoctrinated into Howlin' Wolf's extensive repertoire by now, Kimble gave an amused snort. "Only a guy as lean as you would have the stones to sing that song. You chop, then leave the rest to me. I prefer my food without those interesting specks of charcoal."

"No sense of adventure," mourned Gerard through a mouthful of raw mushroom.

"That's not what you said last night. Not that you exactly 'said' it," mused Kimble, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

"A guy with a hard-on will say almost anything," dismissed Gerard.

"Don't think I won't remember that," promised Kimble darkly.

"OK. But don't forget that works both ways," Gerard pointed out, just before he started singing 'Built for Comfort'.

Watching the seductive twitch of that delectable ass, Kimble felt obliged to check.

 

Despite their misgivings, both men had a far better day than they had anticipated. For once they arrived home within five minutes of one another. After spending a couple of hours in the gym, they enjoyed a leisurely meal before going their separate ways for the rest of the evening.

His piles of paper reduced to a single, two inch stack by this time, Gerard locked up the house despite the relatively early hour and wandered upstairs. Knowing Richard was busy checking references for a paper he was working on, he knocked on the door of his office.

"Hi. You done?" Kimble mumbled around the pencil he had stuck in his mouth.

"Ten minutes ago. I'm going to bed to catch up on some sleep."

"And whose fault was it that we were so late last night? I'll be another hour or so before I - " It was then that Kimble caught on, preoccupation giving way to a slow smile. "On second thoughts, this can wait. I'll meet you in the tub in five minutes. Unless you're too tired?"

"Get real, Richard," said Gerard kindly.

Kimble looked smug. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me." Before Gerard could disillusion him, he added, "You mentioned needing to call Poole about the change of plan for tomorrow. Did you remember?"

"Shit, no. Don't start without me," sighed Gerard, as he reached for the telephone.

 

Having lit a number of plump, scented candles and set them around the wide rim of the tub in golden clumps, Kimble ceremoniously poured a generous quantity of the sinfully-expensive bubble-bath into the water. He looked up when a bare arm slid around his naked waist to see Gerard viewing the rapidly rising foam with a pensive eye.

"Was there a problem with Poole?" asked Kimble, in between nuzzling the curve of Gerard's shoulder.

"Apart from the fact I woke her up?"

"Oh boy." Kimble checked his lover out, taking his time, his fingertips only just skimming the bare flesh. "I don't see any new scars."

"Well you can't have missed much in your search. Think you'll know me again?" Because the side of Richard's thumb was stroking the undercheek of his butt, Gerard's tone wasn't as dry as he had intended.

Kimble wrinkled his nose. "Maybe I should make it a more thorough check. In you get." He gestured to the tub.

"Are you wedded to the idea of bubbles?" Gerard asked, resisting the pressure in the small of his back to remain where he was.

"Don't you like them?"

"I can live without them," Gerard admitted. Occasionally was fine, but it had occurred to him that, given how often he and Richard shared a tub, he either told the truth now or sentenced himself to living a life of scented froth.

"Why didn't you say anything before now?" Kimble bent and fumbled through the arm-deep foam for the plug.

Gerard shrugged. "I guess I thought I should put up with it while the romance was in full bloom."

Kimble put his hands on his hips and managed to produce a fairly convincing show of indignation. "Are you trying to tell me it's worn off already?"

Opening his mouth, Gerard closed it again and reluctantly shook his head. "While it's tempting, because you're looking too damn smug, I can't lie about that. You can keep your bubbles, I guess I'll survive."

"I expect you will, but can I survive the sight of you being brave?" joked Kimble as he straightened from where he had been rinsing the last of the foam away before he refilled the tub. Cradling Sam's face between his wet hands, he gave his companion a long, lingering kiss, then went back for another.

"Wuss," he said lovingly. "I've just got used to having bubbles in my tub, that's all."

"Helen liked them?" Gerard had yet to feel natural about bringing Helen Kimble into the conversation, his emotions about her a messy tangle he preferred not to investigate. She had been a part of Richard's life for almost twenty years. It had been disconcerting to discover just how possessive he could be. And how insecure.

"Helen? Not particularly. No, I'm the one who likes them. I'll save them for when I'm bathing alone."

"And then I'll be sorry," completed Gerard with a grin.

"That presupposes you have a conscience," retorted Kimble. "There, not a bubble in sight."

"I can see one right there," said Gerard, deadpan.

Kimble gave him a speaking look, then bent to pop it between his finger and thumb. "Happy now?"

Gerard made a production of thinking about it. "I guess."

Pouring in a generous measure of the bath-oil he knew Sam liked, Kimble gestured to the clear, gently steaming water. "Your tub awaits." His shoulders slumping, he rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess the candles were kind of over-the-top. I better get rid of them." With a faintly wistful air he began to snuff out the flames.

Gerard caught hold of his wrist. "You let them be. You look so fine by candlelight and - You lousy son-of-a-bitch," he broke off to say, only appreciating that he had been duped by a master when Kimble straightened to reveal a grin of wicked satisfaction.

"Damn it, you give me those big eyes and my brain turns to mush," Gerard complained.

"I know," said Kimble happily. "You see, what you forget is that I'm basically a rotten human being."

"This is true," Gerard conceded. His gaze slid to the bottle sitting in an ice bucket by the head of the tub. "Champagne?" he said quizzically.

"I bought it on the way home."

Gerard nodded knowingly. "What are we celebrating?" Stepping into the water, he sank down with a sound of appreciation, then extended a hand to his companion.

"Being alive - and together. And happy," Kimble added, with nothing of an after-thought. "We must be approaching our three month anniversary," he mused idly, watching water lap the small pink nipples he alone knew how to bring to life.

"Almost. Two months, three weeks and four days. Stop standing there tantalizing me and get in before I develop a crick in my neck."

Sinking into the water, Kimble was taken into a loose embrace. Leaning back against the prop Gerard offered, he settled himself in a position of maximum comfort while he absorbed the fact that Sam knew - probably to the hour - when they had become lovers.

"When are you counting from?" he demanded abruptly, twisting around because he needed to see Sam's expression. As he just looked faintly puzzled, it was no help at all.

"Counting what?" asked Gerard, nudging the stem of the champagne flute against Richard's arm to get his attention. Kimble took an absent sip from it and resettled himself in Gerard's embrace.

"Our anniversary. When are you counting from? Damn, the guy was right. This is good champagne."

"Look, it's no big deal," said Gerard defensively. "I happen to have a good memory for dates, that's all."

"From our very first time?" pressed Kimble, stroking the arm banding his chest. "Against the front door. I always think it's from then. I just kept thinking how unfair it was that I could only feel you through two layers of clothing." His voice husky, he raised Gerard's wet wrist to his mouth and kissed it.

"Drink your champagne, Richard," said Gerard prosaically.

"So from when?" pursued Kimble.

"Has anyone ever told you what a pain in the butt you can be?"

"Counting you?" Kimble returned. "From when?"

"Since the day we made out against the front door," conceded Gerard with a sigh.

"I thought it must be," said Kimble smugly. "I'm terrible at remembering anniversaries," he added. "For some reason the date never sticks in my head. I'll never remember without prompting, so give me plenty of advance warning, OK?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Sam, I'm serious about this. It isn't that I don't want to celebrate them, just that I never remember the damn things. You tell me, clear?"

Gerard nudged the back of Richard's head with his knuckles. "You're very masterful for a guy who's got my dick prodding his ass. I'll remind you," he promised, glad Richard couldn't see his expression right now.

"Good. I intend to celebrate every excuse I get." Kimble smiled when the arm banding his chest gave him a small squeeze. "So, I can't have bubbles in my bath, but I'm allowed candles and hugs," he mused as he passed his champagne glass back for a refill.

When he returned it Gerard nuzzled the glossy brown hair that smelt of Richard. "You meek is certainly a novelty," he snorted. "You can have bubbles any time you like," he added with an indulgence that ruined the effect.

"Ah, but can I have you, too?"

"Let's face it, Richard, where you're concerned, I'm easy. I might even let you talk me into bubbles every once in a while. When I figure you've earned it. Deal?"

Kimble shivered as warm breath tickled his ear, Sam's mouth so tantalizingly close that occasionally his lips would brush against him. "And what do I have to do to earn this favor?" he enquired.

"I expect I'll think of something."

Kimble ran his palm up and down a dark-haired leg from ankle to upraised knee. "You usually do."

Browsing the side of Kimble's jaw, Gerard teased the water-logged hair flattened on his lover's broad chest as he began to suck at the tip of Richard's ear. "I screwed up over this business of saying goodnight. You'll have to cut me some slack. You've got a sixteen year advantage over me at living with someone."

Hearing the faint note of uncertainty, Kimble didn't rush into speech, sensing that this was too important for him to get wrong. Equally, it was imperative to keep things light.

"That doesn't make me an expert. I wish it did. What works with one couple doesn't necessarily have any bearing on another. I'm not even the same man." Sliding around, he knelt up, his palms on his lover's shoulders. "You're doing just fine. Of course, you're kind of quiet in the mornings." He leant in for the kiss which was immediately forthcoming.

Water lapped gently at the edges of the tub, their increasingly sloppy kisses making small slurping sounds in the silence.

"You do real good, Sam," Kimble told him during a pause to take in air.

"Not that you're biased," mocked Gerard affectionately.

"Who, me? OK, so I'm biased. Want to make something out of it?" It was a passable imitation of the man he was challenging.

With an incoherent murmur Gerard began to kiss him again, drawing out the lush lower lip. He inhaled sharply and glanced down to where Richard's hand had been busy under the water for some time.

"Now you've got my attention," he invited.

"Don't worry, I have every intention of keeping it," Kimble assured him.

"You could be right," said Gerard, who had absolutely no idea what his lover had just said.

Fully aware of Sam's preoccupation, Kimble kissed him on the nose. "Of course I'm right, I'm a doctor." As he intended, that caught his companion's attention.

"You're so full of it I can't believe your eyes aren't brown. Jeez, you have a sexy mouth." Before Gerard could explore it again, strong hands slid under the water to cup his rump, drawing him forward until Kimble's thighs were partially supporting him. "Richard?"

"If I'm going to give you head I need your dick out of the water," Kimble explained.

Gerard just had time to fling his arms along the rim of the tub before Richard's mouth engulfed him.

 

By the time they finally left the water they were half-asleep, although a call from a deputy who was leading a team out in Kentucky, where their quarry had taken them, woke Gerard up for a while.

About to go to bed, it occurred to him that he had nothing ready for the morning, when he needed to make an early start. Padding quietly around the house, it was a while before he wandered into their bedroom.

Moonlight spilling in through the windows highlighted the man already in bed. Pausing, Gerard gave the sleeper a fond look. Only half of his face visible, drool gleamed at the corner of Richard's slackened mouth, and the fingers of his right hand were twitching slightly. Only a man with a clear conscience would dare to fall asleep so quickly and deeply, he mused affectionately, before he remembered that he hadn't seen his keys downstairs. He must have forgotten to detach them from his belt.

Locating his jeans in the laundry basket, Gerard removed the bunch of keys and settled the heavy set next to his wallet and small change on top of the chest of drawers. They landed with a metallic clatter that made him flinch.

A muffled sound made him spin around, instantly alert.

Kimble had shot up in bed, poised for flight, his eyes wide with terror. "God, it's only you." Breathless with relief, he sagged back against the pillows and ran a hand over his face. "Damn," he croaked a little later, beyond being able to conceal his reaction. He jumped when the keys moved of their own volition.

Gerard sat on the side of the bed. "Bad dream?" There was nothing in his prosaic acceptance to betray him. The knowledge of what Richard still suffered because the system had failed him so badly made his gut burn; a fierce, futile rage curled one hand into a fist before he made a conscious effort to relax. The last thing Richard needed was for him to over-react.

"I suppose it must have been. I heard this door clang shut, the way they used to," Kimble muttered, avoiding the other man's gaze because his past was a difficult topic for them both.

Then he was enfolded by Gerard's warmth as he was collected in a secure, loving embrace until the night demons should have dispersed.

With typical dogged courage, Kimble was the first to ease away, although he kept one hand on Gerard's thigh. It had felt the most natural thing in the world to rely on Sam's strength in that moment of vulnerability; knowing Sam took it for granted that he would rely on it was both intensely comforting and immensely liberating.

"For someone who claims not to hug, you do a damn fine job," he said huskily, so full of love that he literally didn't know how to express it.

A broad-tipped finger nudged the tip of his nose. "I hug. I just don't see the need to do it every time I meet someone. Unless it's you," Gerard added after a pause for reflection.

"The things you do for me," Kimble said, recovering his equilibrium.

"I'm that kind of a guy," Gerard agreed, straight-faced. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I think you must have caught the jangle of my keys when I set them down. Because they make so much noise I usually leave them on the table by the front door."

About to snap, because he hated these reminders of his fifteen months in prison, the more so since they came less often these days, Kimble managed to swallow the retort. None of it had been Sam's fault.

"You're not to blame for the fact I'm paranoid," he said firmly.

"Hey, just because everyone's out to get you - "

Kimble groaned. "I'd really like to meet the guy who made you think you were a comedian. Come to bed, you're getting cold."

"That's all right, I plan to warm myself up against you," said Gerard cheerfully, before he made good the threat.

***

The noise of Sam's keys seemed to have jogged Kimble's memory in the last way he would have chosen. After several nights during which he was plagued by disturbing, fragmented dreams, he noticed that Gerard was looking as tired as he was. Hardly surprising given that he woke them both yelling his head off, or that Sam was keeping watch over him - although he wasn't supposed to have noticed that.

"Maybe I should move into one of the spare rooms for a while," Kimble muttered into the darkness, knowing his nightmare had woken both of them again. He felt rather than saw Sam's head turn on the adjoining pillow.

"You're an idiot," Gerard told him without emphasis. Easing onto his side, he tucked an arm over his lover and rubbed his forehead against the other man's shoulder. "You move out and all that will happen is that I'll have to move after you, so you may as well save us both the trouble and stay put."

"It was just a thought," said Kimble, relaxing in the circle of Gerard's arm. He gave an involuntary grin when he heard the mutterings in his ear. "All right, I was wrong, you're right. As usual." His grin broadened when he received an approving pat.

"You're learning," Gerard mumbled.

Drowsily inhaling his lover's scent, the comforting weight of Sam's arm heavy across his midriff, it occurred to Kimble that there were compensations to waking in the middle of the night for the third time in a row. He slid back into sleep before his dick decided to act on the possibilities inherent in its close proximity to so much tempting flesh.

***

Caught in rush-hour traffic because he had made the elementary mistake of taking Lake Shore Drive, Kimble had plenty of time for contemplation on his ride home the following day. He felt uneasy at the demonstration his subconscious mind was giving that he still hadn't escaped his past. That stupid incident with the bubbles the other night had forced him to admit that he wasn't comfortable talking about Helen to Sam; he didn't feel free to mention her unless Sam did, and that artificial blocking of almost twenty years out of his life sometimes created an awkwardness he didn't know how to bridge. It also left him with the niggling feeling that he was failing Sam and Helen, both of whom deserved better.

Finally arriving home, the petty irritations of the journey dropped away when he wandered through the empty house and around the side to find Sam busy stacking the logs he had been chopping.

"You've showered," said Kimble, giving him a look of betrayal after sniffing around his lover like a pig searching out truffles.

"Be grateful," said Gerard.

"I like the smell of your sweat."

"I'd noticed, but trust me, there's a happy medium. Flies were fainting when they got too close."

Kimble looked unconvinced, before he gave the log pile a guilty look. "It's about time I did my share of that."

"There's no rush. You're late today."

Kimble was side-tracked into complaining about the frustrations of his lengthy journey home without appreciating how neatly his attention had been diverted.

"That'll teach you to take 'LSD'," Gerard said as they moved into the kitchen and began to prepare a meal.

"Said with all the smugness of a man who beat the rush-hour."

As they talked idly, or worked in a companionable silence, Kimble became aware that Gerard wasn't as relaxed as he should be; he had the look of someone walking on metaphorical eggshells. Waving him into a chair with a lordly sweep of his hand, Kimble took over the cooking and set about ensuring that Gerard lost the faint frown he was wearing when he believed himself to be unobserved.

Their meal eaten and wine drunk, Kimble teased Gerard up to their bedroom at a ridiculously early hour, before he initiated a laughing wrestling match which consisted of innumerable illegal holds.

Gerard arched with a gasp when Kimble finally succeeded in squirting lubricant inside him.

"You cheated!" he accused, his head going back on the mattress as he caught his breath.

"Whatever works," said Kimble, equally breathless but appallingly smug as he stared down at his lover.

Gerard was already gleaming with lubricant; it streaked his hair, shone on one arm, his chest, belly and thighs and darkened the rich, dark green of the sheets. Relaxed and laughing, he found the strength of will to fend off the other man's advances.

"No, we can't. Damn it, Richard, will you listen to me? Cosmo's due round about nine-thirty to collect the papers on the Berol case. I need to dress. Hell, first I need to shower," Gerard discovered with a grimace. Sliding from the wreck of the bed, he wiped a lubricant slick finger across the tip of Richard's nose. "Jeez, this lube goes a long way," he complained, wiping a hand down the cleft of his rump. "It's a wonder you got any inside me."

Kimble stalked him with a purposeful glint in his eye and an erection that was unwilling to abandon hope. "Oh, I could get more than lubricant inside you," he promised in a husky rumble.

Groaning softly, Gerard side-stepped into the bathroom to avoid the hand which was about to caress his dick. "Cosmo's coming."

"Lucky Cosmo," Kimble grumbled, trailing sulkily after the other man. His expression brightened as a solution occurred to him. A wicked grin appearing, he leant back against the door he had just closed.

Gerard turned when he heard the audible click. Kimble held up the key with a theatrical flourish.

Shaking his head, as if despairing of him, Gerard gave him a tolerant look. "Given that all you're wearing is your watch, where do you imagine you can hide that?"

"The idea of a little body contact doesn't appeal?" Tossing the key onto a pile of folded towels where they sat on the wide rim of the tub, Kimble settled his hands on either side of the narrow flanks and drew his unresisting lover to him.

"We don't have time." Failing to convince himself, Gerard had absolutely no effect on his companion.

"I do. And the inclination," added Kimble, peering mournfully down at his abjectly pleading dick.

Gerard made the elementary mistake of following his gaze. "You play dirty pool," he remarked after a ten second appreciation of the view.

"It's a matter of having to," said Kimble, nudging forward so that Gerard felt the snub-head of his erection.

"What do you mean?" Gerard sounded increasingly distracted.

"Maybe I'm over-stating the case but I've lost count of the times the job - yours or mine - has interrupted our sex life. We're losing spontaneity. At this rate, the only time we'll dare make love is at three in the morning, in bed, with all the doors locked and the covers pulled up over our heads."

"That would have the merit of novelty." Gerard evaded all but the most fleeting of kisses by constant shifts of his head, as if he were a boxer dodging blows.

"Playing hard to get?" enquired Kimble. He paused to wipe a smear of lubricant from his lover's right cheekbone.

Gerard gave Kimble's wrist an absent-minded kiss when it brushed his mouth. "That would definitely have novelty value," he said with conviction.

"I'm all for something new. So long as I get my own way in the end." Kimble used his body to ease his lover back against the closed door.

"Don't you always?" returned Gerard, making no attempt to resist. "Richard, we really don't have time for this. Mmmnph."

The darting kisses had become more lingering; coaxing, they grew slower and deeper and impossible to resist. Gerard forgot whatever it was he had intended to say next as he cradled Kimble's skull between his large hands and began to kiss him back.

"Damn, but you're good at this," he mumbled some time later, when they had to come up for air.

"Practise, that's the secret," Kimble told him as he tried to ease the other man around.

"What are you doing?" asked Gerard, declining to move.

"Just turn around."

"But I won't be able to kiss you then," complained Gerard, although he did as he had been asked. His nose brushing Richard's amber bathrobe where it hung on the back of the door, he could feel the prickle of chest hair sliding against his shoulder blades and the ramrod of Richard's dick poking the cleft of his ass.

"Never mind, we'll think of something else to do," Kimble promised as he rubbed his face against Gerard's neck and shoulders, making muscled contours ripple as his stubble dragged over the skin with a soft rasp. Mouthing his lover's sharp-boned jawline, he pulled on Sam's dick.

The roughened skin of Kimble's hand offered a pleasurable abrasion. Gerard closed his open mouth and tried to concentrate on something apart from his body's needs. The scent of Richard enfolding him, the ability to think seeped away, his brain moving south for the duration.

"I really want to do this, Sam," said Kimble as he browsed back across the wide shoulders, sucking at a stubble-burn with more possessiveness than repentance.

"Really?" All polite amazement, Gerard arched when a finger eased into his lubricant-slick body. "I guess you better get on with it then."

His palms flat against the wood, he shifted his weight slightly and rested his forehead against the softness of the bathrobes. The knuckles of Richard's free hand began to massage the small of his back as a second finger eased into him, then out, and in.

"Well if you insist."

Gerard turned his head. "Just do it."

"Back-seat driver."

Withdrawing his fingers, Kimble centered himself; his other hand cupping Gerard's flank, his thumb caressed the cheek of Sam's ass as he sank home with a sigh of pure satisfaction. He tucked his free arm around the lean middle in a possessive gesture he wasn't even aware of making. Hugging Sam to him, he initiated a solid rhythm.

His cheek scraping against the door, soft, intermittent grunts escaped Gerard.

There was a distant bang of a door, followed a short time later by Renfro's muffled voice. "Sam, are you there?"

His eyes widening, Gerard gave a moan of the purest pleasure. With a sense of inevitability he realized Cosmo was searching the house for him and that Richard hadn't heard a thing. He was certainly beyond the point of no return. Hearing Cosmo enter the bedroom, he slammed his clenched hand to his mouth as a strong thrust drew him up onto his toes. He bit down on his own flesh when Cosmo knocked on the other side of the door; it seemed impossible that the heat emanating from his body wasn't melting it. Able to hear Cosmo calling his name, Gerard was in no position to reply until he had mastered his voice.

Only Cosmo could miss the obvious clues of the rumpled, lubricant-streaked sheets. Hell, the empty container was probably still on the floor, along with their discarded clothes, Gerard thought distractedly. It was too late to worry now.

"Come on, Sam," called Renfro. He sounded vaguely irritated. "Speak to me." The handle rattled, the vibration travelling through the man pinned against the door.

"I'll be - uh - out in - uh - a minute," Gerard managed to gasp, trying to time speech with Richard's quickening thrusts. He just managed to stifle another whimper of pleasure. "Son-of-a-bitch," he hissed, knowing that the man repeating his name in a slurred litany as he fast approached climax was oblivious to the visitor on the other side of the door.

"Sammy? Are you OK? You sound funny."

"Shi-it. Cosmo, go away." For the life of him Sam couldn't stifle the sound driven from him.

There was a disconcerted silence from the other side of the door.

"Uh, sure. I'll grab a coffee downstairs." Renfro's voice sounded so faraway he was obviously in the bedroom doorway, if not on the landing. He ruined the casual effect by adding, "Sorry, Sammy. I never thought. You guys take as long as you need. I came early."

Just like Richard, thought Gerard when Kimble's grip tightened as he climaxed and slumped over him. Before he could feel too neglected Kimble's hands sought him out again, initiating a fierce rhythm it was impossible to resist. Gerard lost the ability to think as he tensed and came over his lover's hands and wrists.

Slumped against the door, only a strong arm keeping him on his feet, he was vaguely aware that they were no longer joined and of the rumble of Richard's voice in his ear. Eventually the velvety richness clarified into a by now faintly anxious question.

"Sam, are you all right?"

"Damned if I know. Ask me later," Gerard mumbled, wondering if his mouth belonged to him.

He felt himself being eased around to face Richard and sagged back against the support of the door as Kimble ran his palms over his torso, as if to reassure himself that he was all right.

"I'm fine," he managed, his forehead brushing his lover's. Strong arms wrapped themselves lovingly around him again.

"Trust me, you were more than fine, Sam. That was incredible," muttered Kimble, holding him tight.

Beginning to recover by this time, Gerard gave the faintest of smiles and stroked up and down his lover's flanks. "Before or after Cosmo arrived?" he enquired dryly.

Drawing away slightly, his hands on Sam's shoulders, Kimble frowned at him. "Cosmo's here?"

"He was on the other side of this door until a few minutes ago," Gerard told him blandly, of the view he deserved some enjoyment of the situation.

"Fuck," said Kimble blankly.

"You were, Richard."

There was pure consternation in the look Kimble gave him. "Oh, god. You tried to tell me. I'm so sorry, Sam."

"Not nearly as sorry as Cosmo," said Gerard cheerfully.

Kimble blinked. "You're OK with this?"

Gerard shrugged. "While being caught making out wouldn't have been my first choice, it's too late to worry now. Besides, it's not like it'll be a surprise. Cosmo must know we make love."

It was all Kimble could do to hide his shock, not least to discover that he was so uncool as to feel embarrassed about being discovered making love to his lover in the privacy of his own home.

"Richard?"

"I'm fine," he said unconvincingly. "This really doesn't bother you, does it," he added wonderingly.

"After thirty years of Ginny walking in and out of my sex-life I'm pretty hard to shock. She was a great believer in spontaneity. This isn't my first public performance," Gerard added as he stepped into the shower.

Kimble's eyes grew bigger. Somehow that wasn't the consolation he presumed Sam had intended it to be. Then he saw the sparkle in those dark eyes as Gerard quickly rinsed himself.

"You're just loving this, aren't you," he recognized, torn between amusement and chagrin as he stepped in beside Gerard and nudged him out of the flow of the water.

Delivering a pat to Richard's butt, Gerard left the shower and began to dry himself. "Oh yeah. It isn't often I see you at a disadvantage. I'm enjoying every second," he admitted. "Relax, Cosmo will be cool about this."

"Good for Cosmo," said Kimble, as he reluctantly rinsed all traces of their love-making from his body and stepped out of the cubicle. "I feel like a virgin thrown into a locker-room full of horny jocks."

The image was so far from the reality that it left Gerard snorting with laughter long past the stage when Kimble thought he had any cause.

Sorely tried, he threw a towel over his lover's head.

 

By the time Gerard and Kimble appeared in the kitchen, their hair still damp and a certain languor to their movements, Renfro was busy at the stove. He half-turned to wave the slice at them.

"Hi, Sammy. Richard. I thought you guys might be hungry."

"You're right. That pizza we had earlier is a distant memory. I've worked up quite an appetite." Gerard padded up behind Renfro to peer over his shoulder. He inhaled appreciatively as he patted the other man's ribcage. "You make the best eggs, Cosmo. And I'm always hungry after sex."

He glanced at Kimble but Richard was wearing that shell-shocked expression again as he stood crumpling coffee filters.

"Me, too," said Renfro easily. "If Caroline and I had a dollar for every time we've made out in the john we'd be rich. Of course, we've got five kids to get away from. In fact we're pretty sure that's where Patrick was conceived. We could be so certain because that was the year we had Caroline's Ma living with us. You can imagine the affect on the libido. She was worse than any damn kid for walking in unannounced." He shot Kimble a friendly grin. "What's your excuse, Richard?"

Busy making toast by this time, Gerard waited for his lover to make the obvious reply. Lost in thought as he spilt coffee grounds over the counter, Kimble clearly hadn't heard the question.

"According to Richard we have five kids of our own. And ours are old enough to know better than to walk in unannounced," Gerard added pointedly.

Renfro gave an apologetic grimace of acknowledgement, then glanced back at Kimble, who was now staring into middle distance while wearing a worried frown. His gaze turning to Gerard, Renfro's look clearly asked if Sam wanted him to leave.

"Hell, no. Let's eat. Richard, sit. The eggs are getting cold."

Still busy trying not to think of Sam and Ginny having sex in public places, Kimble absently did as he had been told. Reaching for the butter, he found his fingers brushing, then linking with Sam's and looked up enquiringly.

Giving him a lazy grin, Gerard shook them lightly and held on until Kimble met his eyes.

"OK?" asked Gerard quietly.

"Eat your eggs," Kimble told him, giving Gerard's fingers a gentle squeeze. "It would help if the pair of you would stop being so damn cool about this."

Renfro studied him for a moment. "I never thought of you as the bashful type, Richard."

This not the moment he would have chosen for Renfro's well-known ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, Gerard scrunched his eyes shut. Kimble gave Renfro a bitter look.

"That's right, kick me when I'm down. _I_ never thought I was the shy type either. It just goes to show."

"Show what?" asked Renfro through a mouthful of eggs.

"Ignore him," Gerard advised his lover. "He'll start making more sense when he's eaten. If you're just going to play with those eggs, give them to Cosmo."

Kimble obediently did so, then absently began to eat the odd forkful from Gerard's plate. "I can never figure out what you do to the eggs that makes them taste so great," he told Cosmo.

"Save the flattery, Richard, he's already eaten yours," Gerard told him. "There's apple pie in the freezer."

"I prefer blueberry," Renfro said, looking livelier as his system began to absorb the food he had eaten.

Muttering soundlessly, Gerard got up to check out the freezer.

"I'm sorry for walking in on you guys unannounced," Renfro said to Kimble as the other man made him coffee. "I should have given this back before now." Fishing in his jacket pocket, he handed the front door key to the doctor.

"Thanks," Kimble said, pocketing it. "Does anyone else have a key?" he asked Gerard matter-of-factly.

"I keep a spare in my desk at work in case I need anyone to pick up papers for me."

"That's not a problem. From now on they'll know to ring in case I'm home." While Kimble's tone was pleasant, it was firm.

"Sure thing, Richard," said Renfro easily as he placed dishes and spoons on the table. "I wouldn't want to put you off your stroke."

Gerard hastily turned away, leaving Kimble torn between outrage and amusement when he realized that, for once, Renfro knew exactly what he was saying.

***

 

Tossing his car keys in his hand, Kimble opened the front door and froze when he was just over the threshold. His heart in his mouth, he watched with a mixture of trepidation and disbelief as Gerard wielded a too-sharp chisel with a terrifying lack of coordination. His grip on the handle slipped, the chisel gouging out a chunk of polished floorboard.

"Damn," muttered Gerard without heat, before he tried again.

Even the sight of Sam bent at the waist with his back to him, the soft, worn denim of his jeans cupping his flexing butt, couldn't distract Kimble from the terror of waiting for his lover to cut an artery.

Another small chunk of floorboard flew over Gerard's shoulder.

Afraid to draw attention to himself in case he precipitated the very accident he was trying to prevent, Kimble held his breath. Gerard swore without heat again, just before the chisel slipped and sliced down the edge of his big toe.

Obscenities filled the air as the blood began to flow.

"It's OK, Sam. I'll see to it," said Kimble, striding forward as he went into professional mode.

With Kimble's arm around his middle for support, Gerard hopped into the downstairs bathroom, leaving a gory trail in his wake.

"Shi-it, that smarts. Who would have thought that chisel was so sharp," he muttered.

Returning with his medical kit, Kimble spotted Gerard prodding the edges of the cut with a grubby finger and smacked Sam's hand away.

"It's my foot," said Gerard sulkily, watching the other man's preparations with an unenthusiastic eye.

With heroic self-control Kimble made no comment as he cleaned his loudly complaining companion's cut. But he made a mental note to lock his tools away where Sam couldn't get at them.

"There," Kimble said, raising his head from the butterfly plaster he had applied.

"It hurts," complained Gerard, no stoic where trivial wounds were concerned. He was obviously aggrieved by the lack of sympathy from his doctor.

"Maybe that will remind you to take basic safety precautions like putting on shoes when you play with sharp tools," Kimble snapped, relying on irritation to cover the fright Sam had given him. "You've left a trail of blood across the hall."

"You know, a little TLC wouldn't go amiss," Gerard complained.

It was then that Kimble realized this was the closest he had seen Sam come to pouting. He wasn't very good at it. A few seconds later it occurred to Kimble that he might be guilty of over-reacting himself. Still on his knees, he stripped off his latex gloves and tossed them onto the small pile of trash he had formed while tending to his patient. Then he bent and kissed Gerard's big toe.

"Better now?" he asked.

"It's a start. You could always try higher up," Gerard suggested.

"Don't give me that cute look. I'm already kneeling and kissing your feet."

"And why not?" retorted Gerard, but he fidgeted where he sat on the closed lid of the toilet. "Well get up then," he added gruffly, a few moments later.

Kimble's smile was full of love. "Am I embarrassing you, deputy?"

"Bastard," said Gerard with feeling. Leaning forward, he curved his hand around the other man's head.

"Are we going to have sex on the bathroom floor again?" Kimble enquired with bright-eyed anticipation.

"Not if you're set against the idea." Giving up his advantage of height, Gerard slid down to kneel opposite his lover. His hands were already busy with the buttons of Kimble's shirt as he nipped and nuzzled his way along the other man's jawline.

"I'll do anything you want, Sam. Only do one thing for me?"

"Name it," said Gerard, having unzipped the other man's fly. With some cooperative wriggling from his companion he managed to slide Kimble's pants and shorts down his thighs.

"Will you leave me to play with the sharp tools?" Kimble asked, serious now.

Having finally succeeded in stripping the other man, Gerard sank back onto his haunches to admire his handiwork. After a while what his lover had said sank in.

"I'm not totally useless." Irritation hovered in the wings. "How do you think I got on before you arrived?" Gerard demanded.

"Don't give me that. You used to hire anyone you needed to do work around the house. Now, for reasons best known to yourself, you've decided to turn into Tim Allen. Why? You know I enjoy fixing things. And I'm good at it. Best of all, I don't take chunks out of myself every time I pick up something sharp. Watching you hack a lump out of your foot was - Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for a surgeon to discover he's squeamish?" Kimble added, finally coming clean.

"About me?" Far from being contrite, Gerard looked pleased.

Kimble gave him a brooding look. "How would you like a kick in the butt?"

"I'd prefer your dick up my ass." Studying his companion, Gerard's expression softened. "You're serious, aren't you. I didn't realize. It just didn't seem fair that you should get caught with doing all the chores around the house. Why don't we go back to hiring people?"

"Sure, for major repairs or alterations. But I get a kick out of fixing things," Kimble reminded him. "And you seem to enjoy watching me. If I don't want to do it, I won't, OK?"

Gerard gave a equitable nod. "Though I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about a little cut. I'm not that bad around the house. Am I?"

Kimble was about to offer the tactful lie, because he didn't want to hurt Gerard's feelings, when he recognized that only the truth would serve. "Sam, I trust you with everything I am and everything I have - except when you have a sharp-edged tool in your hand. Then you're lethal, not least to yourself. Given a choice, I prefer you without any more scars."

Gerard thought about it. "Me, too," he allowed.

"Then you'll leave the home improvements to me?"

"Sure."

Kimble gave him a look of suspicion. "You're very compliant all of a sudden."

"I just remembered, you promised to do anything I asked," Gerard explained, yanking his tee shirt over his head.

Distracted, Kimble's gaze settled on the flat-planed chest with its dusting of dark hair and the pink nipples he had never been able to resist. He recovered enough to say mockingly, "Like this was news to you?"

"Confirmation's always welcome," Gerard told him, trying to sound humble just before he was tumbled sideways onto the floor.

***

 

Yawning, Kimble ambled out into the yard where Gerard was busy chopping logs. He had just got back from a twenty hour stint at the hospital and his one desire was to have a hot tub and sleep for at least nine hours.

"God, where do you get your energy from?" he said by way of greeting.

Gerard paused, the ax hanging at his side. "I've been at meetings all week, Richard."

Kimble surveyed the quantity of newly chopped wood. "Frustrating, huh?"

"Oh yeah. We had meetings about meetings. Well, we were supposed to." The grim satisfaction in Gerard's voice said it all.

"That's my Sam." Grinning, Kimble subsided on to the chopping block, careless of the wood chippings on it, or the well-being of his expensive Italian suit. His sleepy air retreated as he took in the full glory of his companion's appearance. Dressed in his oldest clothes, Sam had obviously been working for some time. "You look fantastic," he breathed, sliding a hand up under Gerard's damp tee shirt to rub his torso.

Gerard glanced down at his threadbare jeans and sweaty top and accepted that love was blind. "You look tired."

"Looks aren't always deceiving. Though given the right inducement I'm sure I could get more lively. I love the way you smell," Kimble mumbled, snuffling up under the top the other man wore.

Gerard quivered when his belly was sucked, before Richard started to lick the salt from his skin. He stroked a grimy finger down Kimble's cheek. "This attention's very nice but it's kind of chilly for this out in the open. Besides, we haven't got time."

"We've got all weekend. I'm off-duty," Kimble told him smugly. His eyes were starting to glaze with lust.

"That's great, but it doesn't help us now. Cosmo, Noah and Robert will be here at eight for a meal."

Exhaling slowly, Kimble leant back, away from temptation. "Oh. I didn't know." His voice was flat, his expression controlled, but not before Gerard had glimpsed his irritation.

"I guess I should have checked with you before I invited them," he recognized awkwardly, wondering why that had never occurred to him before now.

"Why? It's your house," dismissed Kimble as he got to his feet. "I'm going to pass on the meal. You'll want to talk shop. You usually do."

Gerard opened his mouth as if to correct what Kimble had said about the house but the other man was already rounding the corner. Then the mobile phone he had set down by the log pile began to ring. Answering it, his tone was absent, Gerard still troubled by the fact Richard could doubt that this was _their_ home. He was fully conscious of the irony that it should be his lawyer on the phone.

 

Mildly preoccupied all evening, it was only when he waved the three deputies off just before eleven that Gerard appreciated how many times some or all of his kids dropped by. While it was always at his invitation, it had never occurred to him to check with Richard before he issued one. And he knew how he would feel if he got home to find Richard had invited half his surgical team round for a beer.

Surprised to discover Richard wasn't in bed, Gerard checked the bathroom before walking through into the other man's office. A file beside him, Richard was fast asleep on the couch, although his eyes opened a moment or so after Gerard stood over him.

"Mmn. Hi. What time is it?" he asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position and wiping his face with one hand.

"Just after eleven."

"Are the kids still here?" Kimble asked through a yawn. He ruffled his hair, then flattened it again.

"They just left. Richard, I - "

"Damn, I meant to come down and say hello. I only came in here to collect this file, but I made the mistake of sitting down to check something. I must have fallen asleep straight away."

"You've had a rough week," Gerard acknowledged.

"Maybe so but I didn't mean to be such a grouch. Don't look like that, Sam. I behaved like a jerk."

Crouching down in front of him, balanced easily on the balls of his feet, Gerard shook his head. "You were entitled. I wouldn't like it if the situation was reversed. No one would. I won't forget again," he promised quietly, trying to read what might be going on behind that closed face. "This is your home. We both decide what happens in it."

Kimble grimaced. "If I hadn't been horny I wouldn't have made such a big deal about it. It isn't as if I don't enjoy seeing the kids."

"And we'll invite them over occasionally. Operative word 'we'."

"Whatever. Boy, I'm starved. Is there any food left over?" asked Kimble plaintively.

"No, but I'm feeling guilty enough to consider waiting on you. What do you want?"

Kimble thought about it. "Pancakes. Then you wrapped around me in bed."

Gerard nodded his acquiescence and got to his feet.

"I suppose you've showered," added Kimble, sounding aggrieved as he followed his lover downstairs.

Gerard grinned as he flicked the top off a bottle of beer and handed it to the other man before he began to make his preparations for pancakes. "Unlike you, Cosmo doesn't get off on the smell of my sweat," he paused to point out.

"There's no accounting for taste. Is everything all right?"

"Sure. They were real pleased with themselves. Though I admit, they had cause. They caught up with that guy in three hours."

Talking easily, Gerard sat down with his lover while Kimble ate, stole one pancake from his plate, and then took him up to bed before he should fall asleep where he sat.

***

 

Gerard arrived in the bedroom to see Kimble systematically working his way down the large walk-in closet they shared. Propping one shoulder in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, he stood watching the other man for almost two minutes.

"This is a novel method of spring-cleaning that you've devised. Are you looking for anything in particular?" he enquired, when the activity showed no sign of stopping.

"That leather weekend bag. Tan. Italian. I could have sworn I put it in here," Kimble rumbled, his head at ankle height. "Only Kath's got this hot date and they're off for the weekend."

"And she wants you to go along as a chaperon?"

Kimble briefly raised his head. "A comedian yet. No, she wants to look really - Not like herself, in my view. But I'm only a guy, what do I know? Anyway, I said she could have it. When I find it."

"Try looking down the far end. I thought you put all the bags behind your ski gear."

Kimble snapped his fingers. "You're a genius, I did. I always - "

His voice grew indistinct as he headed deeper into the closet. When he failed to reappear, Gerard followed him in, fully expecting to be ambushed. What he got was his stony-faced lover clutching a handful of peach colored silk and lace underwear. Ginny's, Gerard recognized with a sinking feeling, knowing how he would feel should he come across a stash of Helen Kimble's belongings.

"Are you going to tell me you cross-dress in your spare time, or can I take it that this is yet another indication of Ginny's presence that you forgot to mention?" While Kimble replaced the delicate froth on the deep shelf gently enough, he had the look of someone who only just stopped himself from wiping his palms down the side of his pants.

"We rarely come up this end of the closet," said Gerard evenly, "and yeah, I did forget they were there. I'm not big on spring-cleaning." Crouching down, he located the bag Kimble had been hunting for, then took out a large black leather holdall of his own and deftly began to pack away all Ginny's clothing.

"Her bathrobe's still on the back of our bathroom door," said Kimble as Gerard made a final check.

"I'll put it in the spare room at the far end of the hall, along with the rest of her things."

"Is that where you put the stuff from the bathroom?"

"That's right. I thought I told you."

"No." Kimble followed Gerard into the spare room, which boasted an en suite bathroom, and watched the care with which he unpacked his ex-wife's underwear.

When Sam was finished, and without ever appreciating exactly what he was doing, Kimble herded the other man back to their room and proceeded to fuck him through the mattress.

 

Sometime afterwards, staring miserably up at the ceiling, Kimble became aware that Sam, who was motionless beside him, his averted face pillowed on his forearms, was also awake. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a wave of depression.

"Not one of our best times," he said into the silence.

"It was fine, Richard."

"Bullshit."

Stirring, Gerard turned his head until his steady gaze was on his lover. "It was you, that's enough."

The expression in his eyes made Kimble blink rapidly before he blindly reached out. His hand was taken in a comforting grasp, the thick, blunt-tipped fingers curling around his own.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Kimble asked gruffly.

"Get real," said Gerard, at his most tolerant because the other man looked so vulnerable. "Of course you didn't. Trust me, if I had objected, I would have said."

"Good. Only I was afraid - Maybe it's just because we didn't talk. Only I've got used to laughing when we make love."

Gerard gave him a quizzical look. "I'm hoping there's a compliment in there somewhere." Then, because Richard was still looking worried, he added, "I'm in favor of laughter."

"God knows you make sure I get plenty of that. I have so much fun with you, Sam." Kimble idly toyed with the broad fingers he held, thumbing around the close-trimmed nail. "It was all so easy when we first became lovers, wasn't it."

"Only because we didn't stop to think about anything," said Gerard realistically. "I guess that's why we're getting caught out occasionally now. It'll be all right," he added with that wonderful certainty of his.

"Damn right it will. I just thought it was odd we didn't worry about anything early on."

"I don't know about you, but I did all my worrying before we got it together. But you're right. The way we settled in together felt so natural that it never occurred to me to question it, let alone give Ginny - or her things - a thought."

Kimble nodded. "What were they doing in our bathroom and closet?" he asked idly.

Gerard looked mildly surprised. "When she stays over she always sleeps here."

Kimble tensed. "Here? You mean in our room? With you?"

Taken aback because it had happened too many times for him to think anything of it, Gerard nodded. "Well, yeah. It's no big deal."

Sitting up, Kimble leant forward to hug his knees to his chest. "Maybe it isn't to you, but I'll bet Walter doesn't view it in the same cozy light. What does he have to say about it?" he asked without turning.

"I've never asked him." Frowning, Gerard studied the back of his lover's head, which was all that was accessible to him. "What is it?" he asked but Richard did not turn to look at him.

"I can't be as understanding as Walter. I won't share you, Sam. I couldn't." Pain echoed in his voice.

"That's a relief," said Gerard, his tone dry.

Kimble's head swung around. "It's not funny."

"You got that right. Back up. I must have missed the first part of this conversation. I don't know what you're talking about."

The jealousy Kimble had been suppressing broke free. "Do I have to spell it out?"

"I think you better." There was a warning edge to Gerard's voice by this time.

"Walter Skinner might be prepared to tolerate you and Ginny being lovers when she stays with you, I can't." There was something like despair on Kimble's face.

"What?" Incomprehension became a dangerous, slow-to-stir anger.

"How long is it going to be before you treat me the way Ginny Vidal treats Walter?" pursued Kimble unhappily. He flinched at what he saw on the other man's face but didn't back down: couldn't. It mattered too much, his sense of security toppling.

Gerard audibly inhaled, took his time exhaling and began to regain control of his temper. One of them had to keep a grip on things. "You knew Ginny and I had been married. That we've been lovers since the divorce," he said with all the patience he could muster.

"But not that you're still lovers when she visits Chicago! If I had any kind of self-respect I'd walk but - Christ, Sam, I don't want to lose you but I can't share you. I can't."

The agony in the whispered confession drained away Gerard's anger, exasperation and affection jostling for supremacy. "You can be such a dickhead," he muttered. Sitting back on his haunches, he took Kimble's wrists in a firm grip. "Just listen, will you. Ginny and I haven't been lovers in an age - and certainly not since she met Walter. She would _never_ cheat on him. As for me, I'm a one-lover-at-a-time kinda guy. I hoped you'd know that without me needing to say," he added quietly.

Hope dawning, Kimble looked up again. "But you just told me that Ginny sleeps in this bed when she stops over."

Gerard made a sound of exasperation. "Jeez, Richard. Only when I'm not here. Since she had an intruder a few years ago she's kind of nervous about being alone at night. This bed makes her feel - " he shrugged " - safe, I guess. Who knows with women?"

"Then - Oh," said Kimble, before he fell silent for a while. "I got it wrong."

"You could say." Gerard's expression lost the last of its severity as he briefly cupped the side of the other man's face.

"Sam, I'm - "

"Yes, you are," Gerard interrupted. Uncurling, he slid back under the covers as he quietly accustomed himself to the idea that Richard was jealous of Ginny. Given the way he felt about Helen made it easier to understand. He glanced up to where Kimble was sitting with his shoulders hunched. "Is there still a problem?" he asked gently.

"If Ginny automatically sleeps over here this is your bed," Kimble said at last, his voice tightly controlled. "Yours and Ginny's, I mean." He turned to give Gerard a brooding look.

"We've made love in it in the past, of course. So have you and I. Where's this leading, Richard?"

"You always sleep on that side of the bed, don't you?"

"You know I do," said Gerard evenly. "What is this?"

"That means I must be sleeping on her side."

It was only then, hearing the bitterness in Richard's voice, that Gerard appreciated how he would feel if he was expected to share Richard and Helen's marriage bed. His stomach cramping, he took a steadying breath. "Do you want to get a new bed?" he asked quietly.

Kimble lay back down again. He bought himself time by punching up his pillows and drawing the covers around himself but eventually the question had to be faced. "No. Yes," he amended seconds later. "I want it to be _our_ bed. With no ghosts." He sounded part fierce, part ashamed, and wholly determined.

Gerard gave the stubborn face a quizzical look he knew Richard was too preoccupied to spot, wondering if the no ghosts clause was intended to cover Helen Kimble as well. "We'll shop for one as soon as we both get some downtime," he said, his manner determinedly prosaic.

"I'm free tomorrow. How about you?"

"Tomorrow's good for me. We'll buy a new bed first thing."

Visibly relaxing, Kimble leant up on one elbow. "Just like that?"

Gerard nudged him gently with his forehead. "I'll let you into a secret. I kind of like the idea of us getting a new bed and then giving it a history."

"Me, too," Kimble admitted, looking happier by the second. "We could commission Caroline to make us a headboard."

Seeing the glee in those hazel eyes Gerard knew he had Richard back. "Complete with lovebirds?" he queried dryly.

"I was thinking more along the lines of notches. So we can keep score."

"Of what?"

"Don't be dumb. Every time we make out. In bed, of course. With categories. And sub-divisions."

Gerard snorted. "I can see us spending more time arguing about which sub-division me sticking my finger up your ass while you give me head comes under than us actually fooling around. You have a warped mind."

"No, I can't take the credit," Kimble admitted sadly. "Did you know Noah commissioned Caroline to make him a headboard?"

"Are you yanking my chain?" asked Gerard with suspicion.

"Sam, I swear. I kept imagining - " Laughing, Kimble's hand moved in a descriptive arc.

Gerard's face was warm with amusement. "One thing's for certain, they'd need to be damn small notches in Noah's case. That young man has way too much energy."

***

 

Kimble had just opened the wine before he started to prepare their meal when Gerard's mobile phone rang. While he didn't intentionally eavesdrop at first, it didn't take him long to realize Sam was talking to Ginny Vidal.

Wandering into the living room, Gerard made himself comfortable on one of the sofas and gave all his concentration to the call. Kimble found various excuses for why he should stay in the room. Listening to the affection in Sam's voice and knowing the other man had forgotten he was there, his expression grew stonier and stonier. By the time Gerard rang off Kimble had to make a conscious effort not to snap at him.

It was ridiculous to resent Ginny's place in Sam's life, he knew that.

Selfish. Immature. Insecure. And ridiculous.

He certainly wasn't jealous of her. He had no cause to be, he was the one living with Sam. He was the one Sam loved. Yet -

He had never heard Sam talk for so long or so freely, or laugh so much with anyone but himself. Having eavesdropped shamelessly, his abiding impression was that of being excluded from their private world.

And it hurt.

Ginny had known Sam since he was fourteen; they had been lovers down through the years since they were sixteen, Ginny the one constant in Sam's life.

"So what shall we eat?" asked Gerard as soon as the call was over, swinging his legs to the floor and getting to his feet.

"How's Ginny?" There was a brittle quality to Kimble's voice.

Gerard's eyelashes flickered. "She's fine. She asked after you."

By this time Kimble was beyond being able to disguise the anger beneath his surface calm. "And what - exactly - did she ask about?"

The pain which crossed Gerard's face before he controlled it gave Kimble no satisfaction, even though he was spoiling for a fight. That was preferable to facing his insecurities again. The next time he looked up Gerard had left the room.

It was only when he had enjoyed a ten minute sulk that Kimble remembered Sam only ever retreated when he was at his most vulnerable.

Checking the gym first, Kimble found Gerard sitting on the battered couch, his forearms propped on his thighs, his lax hands dangling, his head bent. Hearing the sound of footsteps, he tensed, then turned, a guarded wariness on his face which it hurt Kimble to see.

"Hi," said Gerard with spurious ease.

Sitting beside him, Kimble made a conscious effort to relax. "What are you doing?"

Gerard shrugged. "Thinking."

"Yeah? I wish I'd done some of that earlier. Would an ice cream help?"

"What?" Puzzlement turned to a softening of the harsh lines as Gerard traced the memory back. "Not right now. I thought you were over believing Ginny and I are cheating on you?" He sounded tired rather than accusing.

"I am," protested Kimble. "It's not that."

"Well something's bugging you. This isn't the first time Ginny's called since we've been living together," Gerard added colorlessly.

"I know," Kimble conceded. "But today I hung around and listened in. I heard you talking and laughing so freely with her and it - got to me. She knows you better than I ever will. She's had a thirty year head-start. I can't compete with that."

His expression intent, Gerard blinked, frowned, then slowly relaxed as he absorbed what he had been told.

"You're a moron," he said lovingly. Settling his palm on Kimble's thigh, he rubbed it in reassurance. "No one has ever made me feel the way being with you does. Jeez, Richard. You must have known," he said with mild exasperation.

Kimble collected up Gerard's hand and absently matched his own to it, palm to palm. He had yet to get over the surprise of having a lover with hands larger than his own. He loved Sam's hands; loved the way they caressed him, the way they covered his flesh, owning it.

"I've never thought of myself as being particularly possessive. But it seems I am. About you." He looked endearingly earnest, and a little nervous, as if he was afraid he might have damaged something beyond his ability to repair it.

Strange that such an intelligent guy could be so dumb, mused Gerard as he gave his lover a quizzical look. "Do you see a queue forming?"

"Are you kidding? You're the only one who's never noticed it. Sorry I screwed up earlier," Kimble added briskly, setting down Gerard's hand. "I'll go see to dinner."

"I'll help." Gerard got to his feet. "Ginny called because she's about to start her next book and she wanted to check a couple of procedural points with me. The only reason she stayed talking is because Walter's away and she's missing him. He can't stand me," he added, flicking off the lights in the gym.

Kimble could understand why but had the sense not to comment as they went into the kitchen. He was going to have to get used to Ginny being in Sam's life rather than simply paying the idea lip-service. On the principle that there was no time like the present, he decided to show an interest. "You help her with her books?" Pouring them both a glass of wine, he handed one to Gerard.

"Hell, no. Just a few facts. Resign yourself, if she ever needs information about vascular surgery you'll be getting a call."

"I'd be glad to help. I've always enjoyed her writing," Kimble added with truth. Sitting at the kitchen table he propped his feet on the spare chair opposite him. "It would be great to make a contribution, no matter how small. Thinking about it, now I know you, it's obvious how much influence you have over her writing. Her last book. The one she dedicated to you," he prompted.

Gerard groaned and perched on the table top beside Kimble's feet. "Don't remind me. She only put that in to yank my chain." A reminiscent grin crossed his face. "Of course, I wasn't the only one affected."

"You're looking far too pleased with yourself," Kimble recognized. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," said Gerard with a trace of indignation, just before his innate honesty made him ruin the effect. "I didn't need to. Ginny shot herself in the foot without any help from me. Though I guess I could have reminded her about that dedication. See, at the time she wrote it, Walter wasn't on the scene. He was a permanent fixture by the time the book got published. He didn't see the funny side." While his face was bland, his voice oozed satisfaction.

"Odd that. In the circumstances. How did her dedication go again?" mused Kimble. "'...the finest law-enforcement officer,' (I can't argue with that), 'the most wonderful ex-husband,' (operative word 'ex'), 'and the best friend anyone could have'," he added, a decidedly sappy expression in place by this time. "It's lucky Walter didn't see that personal inscription Ginny added to your copy about you being the best screw," he added, teasing rather than acerbic.

"Yes," said Gerard, with a total lack of conviction. He looked up to find Kimble giving him that lop-sided grin which always turned his guts to mush. "What?" he demanded belligerently.

"It was a great comfort to discover you weren't perfect."

"At what?"

"That's my Sam." His head cocked, Kimble's eyes narrowed as he traced something that had been niggling at the back of his brain. "You mentioning that book has jogged my memory. I'd never put two and two together before but the hero in it, the detective, always reminded me of someone. You know who he's based on, don't you?" There was pure glee in his voice.

Gerard shook his head. "I've no idea. While Ginny uses mannerisms and speech patterns of people she knows, political thrillers aren't my thing. That so-called detective was an over-achieving asshole with delusions of godhood. He annoyed the hell out of me because he kept having these leaps of intuition that no one has. Or if they do, they happen once, maybe twice in a lifetime. And she over-played his charisma."

"Did you tell Ginny all that?" asked Kimble, sounding amused.

"Of course. She expects me to be honest. Not that she ever takes any notice of my opinion - unless it's a factual point. She just laughed. So who is the inspiration for that jerk? I could understand why it annoyed me so much if Walter was the inspiration, but like I said, he wasn't around."

"Honest to god, Sam. It's you, of course."

Gerard's head shot round. "Uh huh, I'm not that gullible."

"That doesn't change the fact he's based on you."

"Don't be ridiculous. That's the most - "

Kimble began to tick off an impressive list of similarities on his fingers.

" - he certainly makes love like you. He's even as well-hung. And far be it for me to pry, but surely there was something familiar in some of those sex scenes."

Gerard gave him a dark look. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"You bet," said Kimble happily. "How can a guy so bright be so dumb? He's you, Sam. OK, an exaggerated, glamorized version, and the looks are totally wrong. Though I guess if she hadn't made him a blond even you might have guessed. I can't believe someone else you know hasn't read the book and picked up on the likeness."

"Damn. You mean that guy is really like me? I should sue her," Gerard said broodingly. "But that explains why she kept asking me what I thought of it. Far more than for any of her others." He began to laugh.

Kimble waited patiently to be let in on the joke.

"I can't wait for her to finish her next book. It features the FBI," Gerard explained.

"How will Walter react to that?" Kimble asked through a wide grin.

"Badly, I should think. But the poor schmuck loves her. You really think that guy's like me?" Gerard added.

Kimble nodded.

"As I recall, he _was_ remarkably well-endowed," Gerard mused. He looked appallingly smug.

Kimble declined to be drawn on the subject which always made him horny. "Instead of cooking a meal do you want to try out that new restaurant that opened a couple of blocks away?" he asked.

Gerard pulled a face. "Only if you want to change. They have a dress code. And right now neither of us comes close."

"Point taken. What?" Kimble added a little defensively when he realized Gerard was still looking at him.

"Is Ginny a problem?" Gerard asked with the directness which could be so disconcerting.

Kimble grimaced. "Only to me. And I'm being a jerk, I know that. I think I'm pretty much over it. If I'm not, I'll deal with it. You've never had a problem about Kathy."

Just Helen, Gerard thought to himself. "That's because I'm perfect. That's why I get put in novels."

Kimble groaned. "I had to go and tell you. Pour me some more wine while I prepare to dazzle you with my culinary skills."

Gerard looked unenthusiastic. "Does that mean stir-fry again?"

"I thought you liked it."

Gerard puffed out his cheeks, then came clean. "I lied. I mean, it's fine but I'm always hungry an hour later."

"Me, too," Kimble confessed. "Let's order a take out, then you can have me for dessert. While we road-test our new bed."

"Again?" queried Gerard, all innocence, just before he ducked the dishtowel Kimble tossed at him.

 

They were depositing take out foil containers in the trash when the kitchen telephone rang. Swearing mildly, Gerard paused to answer it.

"Ginny? Hi. We were only talking about you earlier. No, nothing complimentary." Lunging forward, he caught hold of Kimble's wrist as the other man prepared to leave the room. "Is everything all right?" From the way his expression relaxed, it was obvious that it was.

Having been reeled in, Kimble remained in the circle of Gerard's arm. While he knew it was dumb, he found the embrace very reassuring - to the point where he didn't even mind Sam knowing that.

"Rather you than me," said Gerard frankly. "So are you stopping over tomorrow? No? Yeah, I see. Lunch? No, I can't make it. Richard and I have made plans and - " He stopped perforce when Kimble curled his fingers over the mouthpiece.

"Go," he said firmly, turning to meet his lover's questioning gaze. "I mean it, Sam. It isn't a problem." Patting Gerard's flat midriff, he released the receiver and strolled off, radiating a sincerity he wished he felt. He trusted Sam implicitly, but Ginny Vidal was a whole different ballgame. How could anyone not want Sam?

Later that evening he ensured the bed received so thorough a testing that it was a very sleepy-eyed Gerard who went off to meet his ex-wife and long-time lover.

 

While she was longing to see Sam after so many months, Ginny hid her nerves behind a wide smile as she sauntered into the fashionable restaurant she had selected. Moving with her predatory, catwalk stride, she was peripherally aware of the interested looks being flicked her way - and of those which lingered appreciatively. She wondered briefly how she would adapt when they stopped. Then she saw Gerard getting to his feet with that close-lipped, shark-like grin of his and real warmth lit her eyes.

Standing, hips out-thrust, she ran a long-fingered hand back through her artlessly-styled chestnut hair and tossed her head, lips parted in a superbly judged parody of a current hair spray commercial on television. Several women looked at her with dislike as they lost the attention of their male escorts, who were glassy-eyed with lust.

Gerard, for whom she had been performing, just grinned even wider and shook his head at her. "You don't change."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and the knowledge that she hadn't lost it yet. Even Sam hadn't been completely immune. Then she remembered why they hadn't seen each other for so long and her confident smile wavered before it faded altogether. Because Sam was - technically - off-limits, she decided to test the ground in her own inimitable fashion.

"You look very smart," she announced, having paused to eye him up and down. "Is that suit in my honor?"

"Of course." He gave her a quizzical look. "What, no hug?" Ginny hugged everyone - including her lifelong rivals on the social scene.

She gazed up at him through her eyelashes. "I wasn't sure if that would be allowed. Am I permitted to kiss you on the cheek?" she asked coyly as she stepped closer. In her elegant heels he was only a couple of inches taller than she was.

Sighing, he presented his face.

"That's not the cheek I had in mind, Sam," she said in her more usual, forthright tone.

A man on the table closest to them looked envious.

Gerard just dissolved into laughter. "Jeez, you had me worried for a minute," he muttered, giving her a quick, fierce hug, and finding it strange when she didn't pinch his ass. "So, this new act. Is it for my benefit or has Walter got you cowed into submission? Damn, but it's been a long time. You look terrific. That's a pretty dress. Life in Washington must suit you. Tell me all about Walter," he invited, once she was comfortably settled.

It was only when the untypical stream of conversation came to a halt that it occurred to Ginny that Sam was as nervous about this meeting as she was. Comforted, she began to relax.

"It would serve you right if I did," she said calmly. "Life with Richard seems to be suiting you," she noted, taking a sip from the Margarita that had been waiting for her.

Sam looked sleek and mellow and more relaxed than she had ever seen him. But while she knew he must be happy, she needed to hear him say the words. She was just glad he didn't know about her habit of vetting his lovers - not that he'd had that many who had been important to him. There again, he'd always taken it for granted that she knew all about Richard. Thanks to Walter's grudging help she did, after he had personally given Richard Kimble the all-clear. And if Sam ever found out about that there would be an explosion that would make St. Helena look like a belch.

"It's OK," he allowed.

Ginny's eyes narrowed with displeasure. It had never occurred to Sam that he hadn't been the only one the press had plagued when the news that he and Richard were lovers had broken. A well-known figure in society, famous author, Sam's ex-wife and often escort, the press had never known what to make of her relationship with him. They had been camped outside Walter's apartment, knee-deep in innuendo, long before Sam thought to call and tell her the news himself. Walter had been fit to be tied. It had taken all of her powers of persuasion to settle him down. The last thing Sam had needed at that time was an irate Walter Skinner taking him to task. But Sam's lack of consideration had hurt, not least because he had made it obvious she came a very poor second to Richard Kimble. Her two week fling with the doctor had taught her that while he was a sweet, very sexy guy, he was haunted by ghosts, a sadness at the back of his eyes which never quite went away. It was impossible to imagine such a man making Sam happy - or Sam being willing to take second place to anyone's memory.

She refocussed to find Gerard watching her with a trace of concern.

"Problem?" he asked, failing to identify her expression.

"Sometimes you make me so mad," she snapped, her ferocity taking him aback. "I'm serious, damn it. Are you happy with Richard?"

Setting down his drink, Gerard collected her fidgeting hand in his own. "I'm a guy, I don't have to discuss 'feelings'. But as it's you. ‘Happy’ doesn't come close to describing how I feel. OK?"

"Yes," she said, keeping her gaze locked with his. Watching his face come alive as he began to talk about his lover in the most general of terms, she accepted that Richard Kimble might just be good enough for him. She had never been able to make Sam look like this.

She took another, shaky, sip of her drink. While, more than anything, she wanted Sam to be happy, she knew that she no longer came first with him. He had reminded her of that over the phone. It shouldn't have mattered, because Walter was her life now, but it was hard to let go. Harder than she had anticipated. What worried her most of all was the thought that she might lose Sam altogether. Walter or not, Sam would always have an important role in her life, even if they only met once a year, but Richard might not see things in the same light.

"Hey, you're supposed to laugh at all my jokes. What's wrong?" Gerard demanded. "And save the bullshit. This is me. Walter isn't - ?"

Ginny gave him a slightly watery grin. "Beating me? No. Though I think he's tempted sometimes. He's - Everything," she admitted, before she recovered. "And I think I do the same for him. I hope so. I try my damnedest, because this really matters to me, Sam. Walter matters. More than anything. Only for heaven's sake don't tell him so or he'll be unbearable. What?" she added defensively. "Have I smudged my make-up?"

His smile was tender, and warm with affection. "As if. I'm just - taken aback, I guess. I've never heard you say that about anyone before. And you look - happy. Or you did till you started to cry. I will never understand women." He passed her a clean handkerchief of the finest linen. "This really is serious between you and Walter, isn't it."

"About the same as you and Richard," she told him trenchantly, before she blew her nose with enough vigor to disillusion a couple of her more romantically-inclined admirers on tables nearby.

"Except that Richard is incredibly lucky to have me, where as Walter, poor schmuck - "

Within seconds they were squabbling happily, all the important communication taking place in some sub-text that didn't require speech.

Ginny gave a sigh of pure pleasure when she saw Sam's appalled expression as the items on the menu registered.

"That woman is drinking green glop," he hissed.

"Grass," Ginny told him blandly.

He gave her a brooding stare, left a healthy pile of notes on the table and got to his feet. "Come on, it's too hot in here anyway. "We'll stop off at a deli, grab a sandwich and go sit in the park."

"I knew you'd say that," she told him smugly. "So I brought a cooler bag with lunch, and cold beer. It's in the car."

 

Squinting in the sunlight, Gerard removed his tie and jacket and unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt. As he rolled up his sleeves Ginny forgot what she had been about to say when she noticed the hickey on his neck revealed by his open collar. No wonder he looked so sleek. For a sensualist, Sam had never been good at one-night stands - or settling for second best. Celibacy had been a cruel waste of his talents.

Not to mention his loving heart, she admitted, studying him with affection.

The edges of his pale blue shirt quivered in the light breeze coming off the lake, revealing a speckling of what looked like stubble-rash disappearing down his torso. She wondered idly exactly how far it extended, but decided not to tease.

"What?" asked Gerard, shading his eyes with his hand.

"You look terrific, Sam."

His look was openly skeptical. "You must want something real bad. Here's a good spot. And don't give me that look. You can sit on my jacket." Familiarity hadn't dulled his appreciation of watching her arrange her glorious legs under her and he gave them due attention before he settled beside her and opened the coolbox he had been carrying.

"My god, woman. How many people are you expecting?"

"I'm hungry. Here, try some of this cheese. Walter introduced me to it. I think it's great."

Gerard took his time in tasting it. "Too much sage for me," he mumbled, just before he bit into a massive salad roll. His tongue swept out to capture escaping tomato seeds.

For a while they were content to bask in the sunshine and assuage their appetite.

Flicking off the top from a chilled bottle of beer, Gerard handed it to Ginny. "That last book of yours. The one you dedicated to me. No wonder you were looking so damn pleased with yourself."

Ginny gave a delighted gurgle of laughter. "At last! I started to think I'd have to tell you myself. Who enlightened you? Oh, it would have been Richard, of course. _He_ likes my books."

"That's his only flaw. Look," Gerard rubbed the back of his neck, "I know the book that's due out has Walter as the model for the hero but the one after that - You won't use Richard, will you? It's not like he wouldn't be perfect. He's made to be a hero. And I know you and he - You won't base the hero on Richard, will you? Please."

Her expression gentled as she covered his outstretched hand with her own and patted it. "Relax, Sam. After what Richard's been through I figured he'd had all the publicity he needed. Besides, a two week fling isn't enough time to be able to pick over his bones the way I do yours. And now Walter's. This new character is nothing like Richard, I promise you."

"You're using Walter again?"

"Of course. Though it probably won't be obvious to anyone but me."

"Right," said Gerard skeptically. Ginny had always believed she was cleverer than she really was.

"Well, it took fifteen books for you to catch on to the fact that I always used you," she told him tartly, having followed his thought processes with ease. "I bet you wouldn't have if Richard hadn't pointed it out."

"What? You mean - ? No way. Not for fifteen books." Gerard gave an uneasy twitch. "You really do pick over a carcase, don't you. And Walter, poor schmuck, has no idea what you're going to do to him."

"Oh, I don't know. He comes out of it even better than you did," Ginny said demurely.

Gerard gave her a quelling look, which had its usual amount of success. "I'll pretend I don't understand what you're talking about."

She patted his arm. "If it makes you happy. Damn, is that the time? I must go or I'll miss my flight." Scrambling to her feet and scooping up belongings, she was already heading for the car park.

"You want me to drive you to the airport?" Gerard asked, effortlessly keeping up with her.

"There's no need. I hired a car, remember?"

"I'll see it's collected. In you get. If you get home late Walter's bound to blame me and those FBI guys can be a real pain."

"Funny," mused Ginny, "that's just what he says about the Marshals Service."

Once at the airport, they wasted little time on making their goodbyes, satisfied about the strength of their relationship.

"Give Richard a kiss on the cheek for me," cooed Ginny.

Gerard grinned. "Are we talking face here?"

"Wherever you like, Sam. You might like to choose that freckle on his undercheek," she added, at her most demure.

Preoccupied, because he didn't remember any damn freckle, Gerard almost forgot to wave her goodbye.

 

The heat in the house struck him immediately - Richard must have forgotten to switch on the air-conditioning, or had failed to appreciate it had been switched off. For a bright guy he had yet to catch on to the fact that his lover had taken it upon himself to decide when the air-conditioning was unnecessary. One of his favorite occupations was watching a sweating Richard shrug out of extraneous clothing.

Gerard peeled off his shirt, left his boots on the rack and his tie on the newel post as he attended to the air-conditioning. By the time he went out into the yard to search for Kimble he was wearing only his black shorts. Wincing as he moved from lush grass to hard-packed dirt and began to find pebbles, he wished briefly that he'd thought to slip on a pair of canvas shoes on his way out.

Kimble was outside the woodshed, surrounded by a sea of fresh chippings where he had attacked the pile of timber waiting to be chopped.

"Hi. What happened to the suit you were wearing when you left?" he enquired, mildly curious as he paused in stacking freshly chopped logs.

"It's somewhere between here and the front door. Boy, it's got warm."

"I noticed," said Kimble. His tone was the only dry thing about him.

Crooking his head, Gerard studied his sweat-sodden lover. "Yeah, I guess you would have. You've been busy."

Kimble mopped the sweat from his face with the inside of his forearm, which was still relatively clean. "I thought it was time I started to do my share, given that we both enjoy the fire. Once I got the knack of it I got on pretty well. Though you can tell it's been a while since I've done anything like this." Grinning ruefully, he held up his right hand.

Gerard caught hold of it, then seemed to forget to let go. "A surgeon needs to take care of his hands," he muttered gruffly.

"I'm just a city slicker," joked Kimble. "They'll soon harden up."

"I expect they will. In the meantime, is it a good idea to do surgery with blisters?" enquired Gerard.

Kimble looked pensive. "Ah," he said.

"Why don't I carry on chopping and you can stack and clear away. I really hate that part because half the time they fall down fast as I put them up," exaggerated Gerard. But his expression as he looked at his lover's hand betrayed him.

Remembering his own reaction when he had seen Sam using a chisel, Kimble sighed. A concern didn't have to be logical to be real. Besides, Sam had a point. He couldn't afford open wounds.

"OK, it's a deal," he said, studying the area around him with a trace of surprise. "I guess I did get carried away. I hadn't realized how long I'd been out here. Did you have a good lunch?"

Gerard shuddered. "They were serving grass puree or some such, so we had beer and sandwiches in the park. It was good. Come with me next time. It'll be kinder on your hands," he added blandly.

Richard's head shot up. "Smartass," he said moodily.

"It didn't take Einstein to work it out."

"I guess it didn't." Kimble toed a heap of chippings. "I didn't know I could be so petty."

"You could have asked me," Gerard told him cheerfully. "Hey, mind what you do with that hand until you get a Band-Aid on it," he added, having successfully dodged retaliation.

"I'll go clean up."

Gerard eyed the grimy, sweating man in front of him. The back of Richard's shorts, the grey ones he liked so much because of the way they clung, were damp with sweat, defining the glorious firm rise of his ass and the curve of his dick within the jockstrap he wore.

"Not on my account," he said huskily, his head crooking as he lightly bit his lover's neck.

Kimble tensed when he smelt the faintest trace of perfume on the other man: Ginny, he identified. And of course they would have kissed. Sam was affectionate and demonstrative with those he loved. What did it matter if he and Ginny had embraced? Sam had come home to him, he thought, sliding his hands under the waistband of Gerard's close-fitting shorts to cup his butt.

It pressed back to fill his hands. "If I get wood chippings up my ass you're gonna be in trouble," Gerard warned him lazily. "You ever been fucked in a woodshed?"

Kimble raised his head, his eyes heavy with lust. "Never, but I'm a great believer in new experiences. Where's the lubricant?"

The frustrated glance Gerard cast in the direction of the house said it all.

Easing his hands free, Kimble took hold of Sam's wrist and marched them back through the yard.

"Where are we going?" enquired Gerard plaintively, although he offered no resistance.

"We're going to stick with tradition and fuck indoors. There's lubricant in the gym. And mirrors. So I can watch your face when you have me."

Gerard's soft groan made Kimble give an unsympathetic laugh.

"Jesus, how do you turn me on so damn fast?" complained Gerard. He had to pause to rest his forehead against his lover's shoulder, breathing as deeply as if he had been running.

"Sexual charisma," said Kimble, straight-faced.

Gerard raised his head and a quiver of reaction rippled through Kimble at the look he received.

"Get us indoors, Sam," he begged, just before he cradled the back of Gerard's head and gave him a long, searching kiss of unmistakable possession.

They never made it to the gym, bringing each other off with their hands just inside the back door leading into the kitchen. Sliding to the floor because his legs refused to support him any more, Kimble found himself being turned onto his belly; his bare ass was subjected to a minute examination.

"Think you'll know me again?" he enquired acidly, finding it impossible to relax fully with busy fingers tracking every square inch of his butt. "I keep expecting you to take out a magnifying glass. You mind telling me what you're expecting to find back there?"

"Middle-aged spread," replied Gerard, but his heart wasn't in the insult. Despite himself, he couldn't stop searching for that freckle Ginny had mentioned rather than doing what his body wanted and having a short snooze.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Kimble half-turned, causing a pleasing play of muscle from neck to thigh. "Either you've got a death-wish or you're lying. Which is it?"

Finally conceding that there wasn't a single blemish on Richard's beautiful rump, Gerard gave it a light kiss. "Firm as a peach."

"I already knew that. So what's this all about?"

"Nothing. It was just Ginny being Ginny."

"What does she have to do with my ass?" asked Kimble, careful to keep any edge from his voice as he got to his feet. Taking a couple of sodas from the refrigerator, he headed for the living-room, taking a firm grip of his lover on the way. "You're going to have to explain some time," he told Gerard when they were both comfortably seated.

Gerard gave him what he optimistically hoped would be taken for a cute look. Unimpressed, Kimble continued to stare at him.

"If you must know, she mentioned this freckle you had on your ass, that's all," Gerard said, speaking faster than usual, as if hoping the impact might be lost that way.

"Let me get this straight. You and Ginny spent lunch discussing my butt?" said Kimble incredulously.

"I wish. No, but as she headed off for her plane she couldn't resist reminding me that she's slept with you. And I fell for it because - " Gerard grimaced. "Damn it, there's a small part of me that's - Not jealous exactly. Hell, maybe I am at that. I still envy her that ten days you shared," he admitted wryly.

"Only because you weren't getting any at the time," Kimble dismissed, flippant to disguise how uneasy he felt at having been under discussion.

"There is that."

Alerted by something he couldn't have explained, Kimble propped his back against the arm of the sofa. "When did you first know you loved me?" His casual tone hid quite how much Sam's reply mattered to him.

That the last question he had been expecting, Gerard managed an approximation of a smile; the result was pure grimace. "A while," he evaded.

"That's nice. You couldn't be more specific. Or can't you remember?" The anger came from nowhere, but it was real, Gerard's disinterest stinging a sensitive area Kimble hadn't even known existed.

"Oh, I remember," murmured Gerard, his gaze on something only he could see. "I remember to the minute."

Kimble waited in vain. "Whoop-de-fucking-do," he said at last. "Is there any chance of you sharing that romantic moment?" He was too self-absorbed to be aware of the effect this inquisition was having on his companion.

Feeling as if layers of skin were being removed without the benefit of an anaesthetic, Gerard exhaled shakily. "I accepted that I loved you when I finally got home the night we took you into custody," he said in a flattened voice.

Shock slackened the muscles of Kimble's face. "But that means - You've been in love with me since - " His eyes widened as he traced the memory back, his focus on Gerard rather than the old familiar pain of Nichols' betrayal. "You mean when you got me out of the Hilton? When we were together in the back of the car and you took off my cuffs? All that?"

Humiliation at having revealed himself to be so needy tightened the muscles of Gerard's face. "That's right. All that. Great timing, huh?" An untypical bitterness scoured his voice. Getting to his feet, he stood by the window, his back to the room.

The implications of what Sam must have lived through in the two years until they had met again swept over Kimble, flattening his defenses. He couldn't move and was barely able to breathe, the silence stretching on and on as the knowledge of how unhappy Sam must have been sank in.

"Dear god," he breathed at last, on the point of tears. "To be so alone for all that time. And I didn't know. Oh, come here," he choked. But he was the one who was crossing the room. He wrapped his arms around Gerard, murmuring broken love-words in a voice roughened by emotion.

He couldn't apologize for not loving Sam back at that time, much as he longed to make it right, because they both knew it would be a lie. He had been too wounded to have room for this kind of love. Although there had been a connection between them even then, the threads twisting and thickening every time they had met. Strange that he should have given Sam so much thought during those two years.

Two years. Christ.

Soaking up his sense of Gerard as he hugged him close, Kimble rubbed his face over and over his companion's neck and shoulder, as if relearning Gerard's scent. Or as if re-marking Sam with his. Proof that the loneliness was over. It was some time before he appreciated that Gerard was making no attempt to hold him in return, and that for the first time he could remember Sam felt tense and awkward in his arms. Then he became aware that the other man was trembling; a continuous ripple of movement so slight that at first he thought he must have imagined it. When he knew beyond doubt that he had not, his grip on Gerard tightened.

While he should have known better, he had been dazzled by the myth of Sam Gerard into believing he was incapable of self-doubt or insecurity. He had yet to accept the extent of his influence over every aspect of Gerard's life.

Two years.

"I know you didn't mean to, but I'm glad you told me, you hear me. Glad. And I know I made you wait but I will make it up to you," he muttered feverishly. Fiercely protective of the other man, he was unable to think of anything but how unhappy Gerard must have been. Sam wasn't a man for half-measures. When he gave, he held nothing back.

How those weeks when Sam had brought him into this house for protective custody must have hurt him. His eyes stinging, Kimble shied away from examining those memories right now - he wasn't proud of the way he had behaved back then. Instead, he continued to murmur soft, loving incoherencies while he wrapped the other man around with everything he felt for him. Eventually he had the satisfaction of feeling Gerard relax in his arms, just before he began to respond, rubbing his large hands up and down his spine.

"Hey, it's all right, Richard," he said, sounding more familiar by the second. "There was nothing you could have done. Nothing I could do. It just happened. Lighten up. I wouldn't change a thing. As for making it up to me - get real. You love me. It doesn't get better than that."

Kimble muttered something indistinguishable, then just held on tight, his face buried against Gerard's shoulder.

Propping his chin on the top of the other man's head as he continued to soothe him with his hands, Gerard smiled gently into the middle distance. "What a wuss," he murmured provocatively.

"Shut up, Sam," muttered Kimble gruffly, but for the next few days he was so tender and solicitous that Gerard started to feel decidedly antsy.

To his relief, Richard woke up good and grumpy one morning, snapped at him throughout breakfast and stalked off with a stubborn set to his chin and a chip on his shoulder about nothing in particular.

Whistling, Gerard set off for work.

***

 

While he preferred not to admit to the itch he sometimes got when some assignments came in, Gerard had a bad feeling about bringing in Julian Collins from the beginning. Selecting his team, he glanced around.

"Where's Robert?"

"On vacation," Poole reminded him patiently. "He and Wesley are biking in California."

Gerard looked up. "Biking as in Harley?" He was hard-put to disguise his surprise.

"As in pedal," she replied, her tone quelling, but her own mouth was twitching.

"God help California," he muttered, struggling against the mental images which insisted on forming. "OK, Henry, it looks like it'll be me and you going in," he added briskly, half his attention on the fax he had been handed.

"Going in where?" asked Ritchie, with the look of a man mentally returning from a great distance.

"Unless you think Collins will head for the lockup if I ask him nicely, to bring him in. Do I have your complete attention here?"

"Uh, sure, Sam."

"Then would you mind telling me who you were just about to call?" Gerard tweaked the telephone receiver from his deputy's nerveless clasp.

"Uh, no one, Sam."

"That's novel." His patience precariously leashed, Gerard's eyes narrowed as he studied the other man. "Look, if there's a problem I can take - "

"I can do my job," snapped Ritchie.

"I hope so. I want everyone on their toes for this one."

"Won't that make us mince when we walk?" enquired Renfro, his sharp-eyed gaze moving between Gerard and Ritchie.

"Shut up, Cosmo. We leave in ten. Be late at your peril." Gerard was already turning to issue a series of orders to Jenna, his secretary.

Because Collins, predictably, had holed up in his mother's house with his girlfriend, he hadn't been difficult to trace. But the covert entry they had planned was complicated by the decrepit state of the house. Renfro put his foot through some rotting boards on the porch, which lost them the element of surprise. Ritchie mistimed the entry he and Gerard had worked out and was shot in the fleshy part of his upper arm, as well as once in the vest.

Collins and his girlfriend in custody, and the paramedics having confirmed Ritchie wasn't seriously injured, Gerard lost his grim look as he sat beside his deputy in the rocking ambulance as it headed for County Hospital.

Having been unable to raise his wife Vonetta on the telephone before he went into surgery, Ritchie made Gerard promise to go and tell her what had happened in person. "Promise me, Sam. I don't want her to worry."

Covering the hand locked around his shirt front, Gerard refrained from pointing out that Vonetta was unlikely to do anything else after learning her husband had been shot. Leaving the hospital, he drove straight to Ritchie's house, having completely forgotten his bloodstained clothing.

Opening the door, Vonetta took one look at him and crumpled. The pain and the bleeding began ten minutes later, which was when Gerard discovered she had been undergoing fertility treatment and was fourteen weeks into her pregnancy.

Because the Ritchies' parents lived on the West Coast, it was Gerard who, six hours later, had to return to County to tell Ritchie that his wife had miscarried three of the four babies she had been carrying. Still groggy from the anaesthetic, the pellets in his arm successfully removed, Ritchie discharged himself from hospital against medical advice and with Gerard's unwilling help, crossed Chicago to be with his wife. Weak, in pain, shocked and grief-stricken, the normally imperturbable deputy was talking a blue streak as Gerard tried to avoid the worst of the traffic jams.

" - only we've been trying to have a family for so long. Stupid, stupid. I should have taken some downtime. Richard said - "

"Richard?" picked up Gerard.

"He's been so great. Really helpful about explaining exactly what's going on. Vonetta's doctor is good - Richard recommended him - but sometimes it's hard to take in everything they're telling you, you know? Richard never minds how often we call him up. And he comes over to see Vonetta once a - "

"Are we talking about my Richard?" asked Gerard, his fingers resettling themselves on the wheel, as if he was afraid he might otherwise snap it. Still dealing with the knowledge that one of his deputies had trusted his lover more than himself - the knowledge that Richard had been lying to him for weeks made Gerard's pale face grow even more tense.

"Who else would we trust? Jesus, Sam, can't you go any faster? Vonetta will be - She wanted these babies so much." Seemingly unaware of the tears streaking his cheeks, Ritchie leant forward, as if sheer willpower could get them through the traffic.

"It's a great grief, I know, Henry - "

"How the hell could you know," savaged Ritchie, turning on the first available target with something like relief.

Dodging the traffic snarl-up as best he could, Gerard sat and allowed the grief-stricken man to take out his fear and his worry on him for the rest of the journey. Nothing Henry accused him of could equal the guilt he felt for having precipitated Vonetta's miscarriage, but there was enough to make him flinch inside - where it didn't show.

 

By the time he left the hospital housing Vonetta Ritchie, Gerard had been awake for thirty-six hours, none of which he wanted to repeat. At some point he had called in at the office to change his bloodstained clothing, castigating himself for turning up at Vonetta's covered in her husband's blood. If he had stopped to think -

If.

If Henry had told him about the problems Vonetta was having he would have kept him on desk duties until he could give all his attention to the job. If Richard had told him what was going on -

That went to the heart of everything, eating away at him. That Richard should trust him so little.

But most of all he blamed himself.

Feeling old and tired beyond bearing, Gerard began the drive home. For once it was the last place he wanted to be.

Crossing the hall, Kimble swung around when he heard the front door open and gave his lover a warm smile. "Hi. How did it go?"

"Before or after Vonetta Ritchie lost three of the babies she's carrying?" returned Gerard.

"You know about her pregnancy?" Kimble fell silent after that betrayal.

"I do now," said Gerard, an edge to his voice because anger was easier to deal with than guilt. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me she was pregnant and having problems? No wonder Henry's mind wasn't on the job. As it was, he got shot - "

"How is he?" interrupted Kimble.

"Alive. He's OK," Gerard added in immediate reassurance. "He was shot through the fleshy part of his upper arm. Sustained some tissue damage but nothing that won't heal. Then I had to go and notify Vonetta. She miscarried. Jesus, Richard. You should have told me," he burst out, frustration spilling from him because there had to have been a way to avoid what had happened.

"She didn't give me permission to tell you."

Deaf to the regret in the other man's voice, Gerard swept that irrelevance away with a dismissive sweep of his hand. "Henry's one of my deputies. Didn't you think I'd be interested? Do you have any idea how it made me feel to discover - ? You had no right to keep it from me."

"Stop right there," commanded Kimble. His hurt well-hidden, his voice was cold and unfamiliar. "I had every right."

"Not as I see it," said Gerard, encroaching on the other man's personal space.

Kimble made no attempt to give ground, his glare locking with Gerard's. "No surprise there. You never see anything you don't want to. I suppose it's as good a way as any of avoiding difficult decisions. What is it with you and your kids? Is it because you don't have any family of your own that you have to latch onto their lives?"

"That isn't the issue here," snapped Gerard, but he flinched and retreated because that shot was too painfully close to the mark.

Stepping forwards into the space Gerard had occupied, Kimble was too angry to notice. "Bluster all you want, it doesn't change the fact that you're wrong."

"And you're right?" asked Gerard in a tight voice, feeling slightly sick that Richard didn't - or wouldn't - see what he had done.

Kimble gave a harsh, unpleasant laugh. "Is that what's sticking in your craw? Jesus. Just how petty are you? This isn't a competition to see who'll win. This is about people's lives. You're being ridiculous and over-reacting as usual. Why is it you've never managed to grasp the concept of medical confidentiality? For the last time, I wasn't free to tell you."

"You know damn well I understand medical confidentiality. But that doesn't apply to me."

Kimble flung out his arms. "Of course it doesn't! Why should Sam Gerard be bound by normal conventions? If you seriously believe you're somehow exempt then you're even more arrogant than I thought - or you're losing it." He effortlessly overrode whatever retort Gerard had been about to make. "I'm damned if I'm going to apologize for doing my job, and if it happens to clash with your priorities that's just too bad. The Hippocratic Oath is a damn sight more important than Sam Gerard having his ego massaged. Sometimes Big Dog doesn't get his own way. Live with it."

In stark contrast to Gerard, who was all fire and heat, Kimble was glacial by this time, but the force of his anger was even more formidable and he had no intention of backing down. He was right and Sam was so wrong that there shouldn't be any point in arguing with him. Except that Sam refused to accept what an arrogant prick he was being. The force of the will being pressed against him slowly receded.

"You should have trusted me enough to tell me, Richard," Gerard said quietly, before he left the room.

Glaring impotently at the space the other man had occupied, Kimble was in no mood to go after him. He was so angry that much of what Gerard had let slip about his day hadn't penetrated.

 

It was long after midnight when Kimble finally went to bed. Still seething at Gerard's high-handed attitude, he stalked into their room, only to stop dead. Gerard lay almost diagonally across the bed, occupying a good proportion of Kimble's half of the mattress, one hand on the other man's pillow. His lips curling, because he had expected better of Sam, Kimble stepped back out of the room, the door snapping to a close.

 

Woken by that sound, Gerard groggily rolled onto his back. There was no further noise from within the room, only the sound of first the bathroom, then Richard's office door closing and footsteps going down the hall before another door closed. Abruptly wide awake, his eyes narrowed with angry disbelief.

Richard had gone into one of the spare bedrooms.

Out of bed without being conscious that he was moving, Gerard flung open the various doors leading off the top landing. Kimble had chosen the bedroom furthest from their own.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in here?" Gerard demanded. His bare feet firmly planted, hands on his hips, he made a valiant effort to subdue his anger.

"I would have thought that was obvious," retorted Kimble in a brittle voice. "I'm going to sleep." He tossed his shorts on top of his other discarded clothing and headed for the bed.

Stalking over to him, virtually quivering with the effort it required not to grab hold of Kimble and drag him back to their room, Gerard's raking glare could have stripped paint. "Damn it, Richard. Don't you dare use our sharing a bed as a stick to beat me with. If we have a problem, we talk it out. You don't slink off to sulk in the spare room."

"Ginny's room," Kimble corrected, with an audible resentment. "And for your information I'll do what I like. Feel free to leave at any time. I'd like to go to sleep." Chin lifted, there wasn't an ounce of warmth in him.

Pale with a mixture of fatigue and distress, Gerard opened his mouth, then obviously thought the better of the retort he had been about to make. The straight set of his shoulders slumped before he sank onto the side of the bed. Leaning forward, his forearms rested on his bare thighs as he stared at his tightly clasped hands, the knuckles white with the pressure he was exerting. When he finally looked up at the man looming over him his face seemed shockingly changed.

"Is this what you want?" There was the slightest of breaks in his roughened voice.

The retort Kimble had intended died stillborn when he recognized the expression in the dulled eyes. This was the man who had loved him for two years without any hope or expectation that his feelings would be returned; the man he had come to love with all his heart; he just didn't like him very much at the moment. Then he noticed that Gerard's clasped hands were shaking slightly. He hated feeling like this. Hated what it was doing to them. Pride dropping from him, he slowly seated himself beside his lover, careful to maintain a small space between them.

"God, no," he said.

"Me neither," said Gerard, before he fell silent.

Staring into the middle distance rather than at the man beside him, Kimble rubbed the back of his neck. "We've never had a fight like this one." Falling silent, he sat thinking about Gerard's reaction - over-reaction, surely - to his moving into the spare room. "When I came into our room earlier. Were you asleep or were you trying to give me the brush-off?"

Gerard's face was all planes and shadows, but even they could not soften the harsh lines. A spark of anger gave him the illusion of vitality before it was gone again. "Jesus, Richard - " Breathing out sharply, he tried to expel all the inconvenient emotions roiling in him. "How petty do you think I am?" he asked tiredly.

"You were sprawled right across the bed, taking up most of my space. I thought it was deliberate," Kimble explained, allowing himself to ease close enough to feel the other man's warmth.

Gerard looked at him then. "Why would you think I would do that?" he asked, and this time he forgot to mask his hurt.

"You wouldn't," sighed Kimble, accepting that he was the one who had over-reacted this time. "It's just me, making assumptions. Helen and I hardly ever had a bad fight." He pretended not to notice Sam tense at the mention of her name because this needed saying, no matter how awkward it made them feel. "But when we did, if she was still mad with me, she'd sleep across the bed. If I was still mad at her I'd leave her that way and go sleep in the spare room."

"Oh," said Gerard, understanding now. Exhaling, he went back to studying his hands.

Kimble got to his feet. "Let's go back to our room. But I still think you're wrong," he added. The stubborn tilt to his chin camouflaged his need to hear Sam acknowledge that he understood that medical confidentiality wasn't just a convenient excuse Kimble offered when he had nothing better, but an integral part of who he was.

Gerard looked up at him through the dark curtain of his lashes. "Maybe I am," he said flatly, "but right now I'm not ready to hear that." Rising to his feet, he brushed past Kimble and returned to their room. Getting into bed, he settled on his side, with his back to the other man.

Feeling drained and faintly sick that they hadn't resolved the most important issue, and seemed unlikely to do so, Kimble lay on his back, willing sleep to come.

An hour later they were both still lying in the same positions, and both still awake, their anger providing a chilly third in the bed.

 

Tired and irritable, because it was preferable to admitting how much this argument had hurt him, Kimble stared blindly at the ceiling until his vision blurred. The hurt refused to be banished any longer. If Sam couldn't understand what the Hippocratic Oath meant to him, let alone the vital importance of maintaining the confidentiality he owed his patients Sam couldn't possibly have any respect for him - or understand him. And if that was true - This could go to the heart of their relationship, because he couldn't see any way out of it.

 

Heavy-eyed the following morning, Kimble managed to avoid talking to Gerard as they got ready for work. Anger had taken over from hurt again; given that he wasn't the one in the wrong, he was damned if he was going to be the one to speak first. Aggravatingly, Sam seemed too preoccupied to notice his pointed silence.

Going downstairs first, Kimble arrived in the kitchen in time to answer the phone and begin the task of reassuring Henry Ritchie about the new crop of worries he had thought of during the night. Richard had to censor his side of the conversation when Gerard entered the room.

"No, that's fine, Henry. Only to be expected. Do you want to speak to Sam?" Kimble added, hoping that he didn't sound as if he was begging for the affirmative.

Gerard waited only a couple of seconds before backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Staring after him, Kimble had to ask Ritchie to repeat whatever it was he had just said. When the other man finally rang off, he paused to make coffee and took it with him when he went to find Sam. He tracked the other man to his office. Knocking on the half-open door, his expression was wary.

"It's OK," Gerard said instantly, if without much conviction. "I only came in here to give you some privacy."

"I know. I brought you some coffee." Kimble set it on a clear space on the desk top.

Nodding his thanks, Gerard sat back in his chair and wrapped one hand around his mug. His gaze never left the man standing so close to him, aware that Richard had been careful there should be no physical contact between them.

"How's - ?" Stopping, Gerard shook his head. "Dumb question," he said tiredly, wondering why it was suddenly impossible to think of anything to say.

Kimble's feeling of self-righteousness fell away when he belatedly appreciated that he might have misread the entire situation. Maybe the whole problem was that Henry had come to him, not Sam. Sam had a very parochial attitude to his kids, even if he didn't recognize it in himself. Being excluded so pointedly would have hurt him deeply when he was already vulnerable after going through a shit of a day. He'd seen Henry shot; had to tell Vonetta, then deal with her collapse, and against his better judgement take Henry to her. It was no wonder Sam wasn't thinking as clearly as usual. Not that Sam would regard that as any excuse. In his mind he should have been able to stop it from happening. Instead of being given reassurance and support he'd been told he was an arrogant, self-serving asshole and left to believe that he, Richard, didn't trust him.

With a pang it occurred to Kimble that somewhere along the line he had got it wrong. He had Sam's respect. More than he deserved. Last night Sam had been deeply wounded and trying to hide the fact as best he could, not sulking. The realization left Kimble feeling ruffled, petty and unhappy; he hated this kind of bitter argument. Sure, they had times when they locked horns, but it was mostly play-acting and those rare times when it wasn't it was usually over in minutes, or under an hour at most.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Kimble set down his coffee without drinking it, his eyes troubled. He couldn't stand the thought of Sam believing he had wilfully shut him out. "My not telling you about Vonetta's pregnancy had nothing to do with not trusting you. Because I do. Implicitly. But it wasn't my secret and I still don't have permission to discuss it with you. I don't like that situation, I don't get off on it and I don't need it as a power trip. I just don't have any choice. I have to respect their wishes, which take precedence over mine."

Gerard nodded. "I've had time to realize that," he conceded without looking up.

Wishing Sam didn't have to be so grudging about admitting he had been wrong, Kimble said, "Once this business with Henry and Vonetta is resolved I'll make it clear to all the kids that they can't use me as their medical adviser any more. It isn't fair to either of us to be put in that position. I hate what it's doing to us."

His head slightly lowered, his eyes veiled, it was difficult to read Gerard's expression. He took a long, slow swallow of coffee. "No, don't do that," he said finally. "I'd rather they have someone they can trust to go to. If they want me to know something, they'll tell me. I just forget that sometimes. I'm sorry I took it out on you."

Kimble found a small smile from somewhere. "Thanks, Sam." The unhappy slump of the other man's shoulders spurred him on. "Look, the reason Henry hasn't said anything to you won't be personal. Keeping a pregnancy a secret is common, particularly in couples as desperate to conceive as the Ritchies. They get superstitious. They go crazy. They'd wear purple polka dots and stand on their head if they thought it would bring a healthy baby to term."

Gerard nodded. "I know that. I do. Intellectually. Yesterday I was running on pure emotion. I forgot because - Damn it, I think - no, I know I was jealous of the fact they went to you, not me." He grimaced. "I'm not proud of it. But I can't promise I won't have the same knee-jerk reaction next time."

About to reply, Kimble was interrupted by the telephone; the call was for him. Setting down the receiver, he flicked a glance at his watch. "I have to go," he said, unaware that his relief showed. "I'm going to be operating all day."

"I hope it goes well," said Gerard in a colorless voice.

"Me, too." Kimble cast one final, troubled look behind him from the office doorway. "Are we OK?" he asked.

"We will be," said Gerard, but his formidable certainty was lacking, the wounded expression in his eyes one Kimble carried to work with him until the demands of his patients pushed the memory to the back of his mind.

 

In surgery for fifteen hours, Kimble spent the rest of the night at the hospital so he could grab some sleep. Another patient was being flown in, who would be ready for surgery by seven the following morning. He told himself that he didn't call Gerard to tell him he would be staying the night because he didn't want to wake him. In truth, he was afraid that they might get into another fight, and he still felt too emotionally bruised from their last argument to want to risk that.

 

Leaden with tension-induced fatigue, Gerard struggled to stay awake until Richard came home; it was three a.m. when it finally occurred to him that the other man might not have any intention of returning. Calling the hospital to check on his lover's whereabouts, he was told that Kimble had decided to sleep over, ready for an early morning round of surgery.

Ringing off, Gerard stared blankly at the wall. Richard had slept over more than once - but always, no matter how busy he was, he had found time to leave a message, either personally or through an assistant. There again, he couldn't blame Richard for wanting to avoid him after the way he had behaved last night.

 

Having made a point of arriving home early the following day, in the hope that Kimble might be there, Gerard had been killing time for almost two hours when he glanced up from the newspaper he had been pretending to read to see Kimble standing in the doorway. He looked tired but very much himself when he was in successful, eminent surgeon mode: imposing, intimidating and as arrogant as hell. It was a sexy combination. In no mood to appreciate it, Gerard nodded a wary greeting, feeling too brittle to withstand another list of his shortcomings, even if it happened to be true.

"The surgery went well," Kimble told him, dropping his jacket over a chairback.

"Good. You must be tired."

Kimble shrugged. "Knowing I've saved a life helps."

Gerard visibly flinched. "It must do," he conceded.

Kimble's look of hauteur, designed to disguise how nervous he felt, melted away. "Sam, I didn't mean - "

Gerard shook his head. "No, you're right. Saving lives is a good feeling."

"Yeah." Kimble sighed and unfastened his tie. "I'm going to grab a shower and change."

Watching him go, Gerard could feel the gulf between them widening without knowing what he could do to bridge it.

 

Kimble returned to the living-room in time to see Gerard hang up the phone. His face stripped of all artifice, he looked worn to the bone.

"That was Henry," said Gerard, keeping eye contact with the doctor at a minimum. "Vonetta's kept the fourth baby and the hospital are reasonably optimistic about its chances. Henry has a fever and has pulled his stitches but is otherwise OK. Jesus." He wiped his hand over his face. "He apologized for anything he might have said to me. Can you believe that? I cause his wife to miscarry and he apologizes." Fighting for control, he stopped dead.

"What?" Appalled to discover the scope of the misapprehension Sam had been laboring under, Kimble was beside him in seconds, taking hold of his wrists. "Sam, tell me exactly what happened the day before yesterday."

With a bias toward scathing self-appraisal, Gerard did so, his bleak gaze beyond Kimble by the end of his recital. "Which is why I came home and took it all out on you. It was easier than facing up to the part I played. I'm sorry, Richard. You didn't deserve that."

Kimble closed his eyes for a moment. "Sam, one day I swear I'm going to - How could you possibly blame yourself for Vonetta's miscarriage? She doesn't. Henry doesn't. How much did he tell you just now?"

Gerard sighed. "It felt like everything from the moment they first went to see the fertility specialist. For a guy who never usually says much, Henry sure is talkative right now. He seems to have forgotten I didn't know any of this. I didn't remind him. The poor bastard's in shock. At least they've got his fever down, though he sounds like shit. He's in a hell of an emotional state."

Kimble noticed the way in which Gerard had steered the conversation away from the potentially difficult topic of Vonetta's pregnancy. "If Henry told you that much, he's probably mentioned this, too. Vonetta has been having pains and some spotting for several weeks. The hospital insisted she went in but her blood pressure shot through the roof and she couldn't settle there. She discharged herself and went home three days before Henry got shot. Are you saying it's her fault for going home? Or the hospital for letting her? Or Henry's? Or mine for not warning you? I know you want someone to be at fault, but it doesn't have to be you. Rotten things happen to good people and it's not fair. It's OK to get angry or frustrated about that, but don't blame yourself. You're not god."

He paused to give Gerard a look of mock intensity. "No, you're not," he confirmed, offering a smile - but it was tentative.

Slumped back on the sofa, naked relief on his face, Gerard didn't even notice. "I feel so ashamed," he muttered. "It shouldn't help to know that it's not my fault, but it does."

"Welcome to the human race, Sam." Raising one of the curled fists to his mouth, Kimble brushed his lips over it. "I'm sorry too. For some of the stuff I said to you. I don't like having secrets from you. I won't let us be put in that position again. If the kids want confidential medical advice they can go to their own doctor."

Gerard gave a small nod. "Whatever."

Afraid that he might have damaged something that was very important to Gerard, Kimble didn't take the easy option and let the subject drop. "What I said earlier, about your kids. If you think of them as family, it's with good reason. They adopted you a long time ago. Even Poole, and she and Roger are about as close to a self-contained unit as it gets."

Gerard gave the faintest of smiles, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes. "I know. But you were right, too. That's why it stung. You look beat," he added.

"You look like you could use a rest yourself," Kimble pointed out as he took in the finer points of his lover's appearance. "Have you eaten?"

"I was waiting for you."

His expression softening, because that demonstrated Sam's sincerity more than any apology, Kimble leant forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

"What's that for?" asked Gerard warily.

"You being you. I haven't eaten today and I'm starving. And you should be."

Gerard muttered something non-committal but the lines of strain were already easing from his face.

Without ever discussing what they were going to have they began preparations for the pasta dish which had become 'their' meal. And with that mundane task it became easier to talk more naturally.

"One of these days I'm going to make this sauce from scratch with fresh tomatoes," said Gerard as he unscrewed the lid of the jar.

"When you know you're going to be hungry an hour and half in advance," pointed out Kimble.

"There is that," Gerard conceded as he opened a jar of ready-made pesto.

Kimble took the warmed garlic bread from the oven as Gerard amalgamated pasta and sauce. Licking with appreciation the spoon he had used to stir the sauce, Gerard watched Kimble drop fresh sprigs of basil over the melting cheese flakes.

"Your sprigs are bigger than mine," he complained mildly.

Smiling, Kimble patted Gerard's groin. "Trust me, you need have no worries." He just failed to stop Gerard from stealing and eating a sprig from his plate. As they shared a grin, abruptly their lives slid back into sync.

They ate with hunger and an unabashed appreciation, the sloppy sounds of their meal headier than the excellent wine they drank. The slow process of rejuvenation beginning as their systems absorbed the simple food, they sat talking of inconsequentials, relaxed enough to take their ability to do so for granted. As they finished the bottle of wine, physical contact between them unconsciously increased to the point where they became aware of it, exchanging a long look. They both knew they were going to make love; anticipating the event only made it all the sweeter. Tonight was a time for healing the wounds they had inflicted on each other; of reaffirming their feelings for one another.

Having been absently fingering the stem of his glass for some time, Kimble looked up and was transfixed when he saw Gerard suck a speck of sauce from the back of his hand.

Kimble swallowed audibly. "I know it isn't, but it seems a long, long time since we had time to do each other justice." Moving from his chair, his hands settled on either side of Gerard's waist, his mouth brushing a fleshy earlobe as he said coaxingly, "Come to bed, Sam. Now. I want to savor this. You. I want us to - "

Gerard's kiss of affirmation was no more than the brushing of a dry lip, the scent of basil on his breath. "Yes," he murmured, his hands skimming his lover's back from neck to mid-thigh. "Anything. Everything."

Remembering only to lock up, they went upstairs.

Standing at the side of the bed, they exchanged a long look of anticipation before, in an unspoken pact, they slowly eased each other from their clothing. Naked, they made themselves comfortable on the big wide bed that was theirs and theirs alone.

Leaning up over his lover, Gerard ran the side of his thumb over the lushness of Kimble's lower lip, while he sucked at the side of his ear. Taking his time, and beginning with Kimble's face, he set about touching every inch of him with his fingertips and mouth, unselfconscious and unhurried in his worship of his lover's powerful body, loving its idiosyncrasies and imperfections just as much as its splendors - the ragged scar on Kimble's chin, the scar on his side, acquired in the train crash which had set them on course to meet. Gerard refused to think of cause and effect and the twists of fate which brought people together and could drive them apart. Instead, he returned to kiss that wonderful mouth, which parted for him with a hunger which matched his own as Kimble's hands tightened over him.

Nuzzling down the strong neck to lick at the hollow at the base of Kimble's throat, Gerard explored the muscled shoulders and arms, following the curves and planes of muscle from pectoral to biceps, and all the way down to the beautiful hands, one of which still bore the fading tracery of scars which had, indirectly, brought them to this moment. He sucked the tip of the index finger into his mouth, exploring it with his tongue, while the curving fingers caressed his cheek, Kimble murmuring little that was intelligible by this time as he encouraged Gerard to cover him.

"Now, Sam," he managed.

"Now," agreed Gerard.

Unhurried and infinitely tender they matched their erections and began to rub against each other, their lotion-slick hands speeding the inevitable towards the end. Kimble came whispering Sam's name, the soft sound Gerard made buried in Kimble's throat.

 

They remained sprawled together for some time after they had climaxed, entwined in a state of total peace and utter contentment. The tan both men were fast acquiring made a beautiful contrast to the white sheets, the once pristine linen crumpled beneath them by now. Kimble lay on his stomach, his lips to the hollow of Gerard's throat, just breathing in the scent of him, while Gerard's fingers carded his hair in the slowest of rhythms.

They had been lying like this for over thirty minutes, simply because they had the luxury of time; and because their recent fight meant they wouldn't take what they had for granted for a long while - if ever. There was absolute bliss in every line of their relaxed bodies. Gerard's free hand rested lightly over the rise of Kimble's buttocks, thumbing the downy hollow, while Kimble had the palm of his hand curved over the muscular ball of his lover's shoulder, the side of his thumb brushing along Gerard's collarbone at the slowest of paces.

Still dazed from the sensual overload, Kimble lay thinking about his lover. Of Sam's expression when he came, his mouth slack after climax, or swollen from too many kisses. Of the hollows under his cheekbones, and the lines that fanned down his face when he smiled. Of those curtaining eyelashes. Not many people were privileged to come close enough to see that Sam's eyes were a rich brown rather than black, but the warmth they held must be apparent to everyone. Then there were Sam's hands; those large hands he loved so much travelling over his body, knowing when to be gentle and when not, playing him flawlessly. Then he thought of Sam loving him.

Stirring, he raised his head to smile into sated brown eyes that were free from any hint of shadow. "We are OK," he said, his voice rich with certainty.

"Yes," agreed Gerard, with no doubt whatsoever, "we are." Deadpan he added, "We make a lovely couple." His snort of laughter was lost inside his lover's mouth.

***

 

"Nothing but junk mail and bills," complained Kimble, giving his share of the mail a dissatisfied poke with his index finger. "Yours looks more interesting," he added, studying the stack which sat beside Gerard.

"That's because I'm an interesting kind of guy," he paused to explain. "Relax. Those books will be the ones I ordered for Kathy. Didn't you say you were meeting her for lunch?" Gerard added as he continued to open and scan his post.

"That's right."

"Then you can give them to her. At last," Gerard exclaimed as he scanned a letter attached to a pile of legal-looking documents. "Here. This is for you. Though you should have had it a couple of months back. The damn lawyers insisted on dotting every i." He had already moved on to a pamphlet on penal reforms proposed by a pressure group, a faint look of disbelief on his face before he finished the first paragraph.

Kimble was re-reading the letter from Gerard's lawyers which itemized all the deeds necessary to gift him half of everything Gerard owned: house, grounds, car, stocks, bonds, pension - He ran his finger over the broad, black-ink signature on one of the deeds, where Sam's impatience was vividly inscribed forever. Sam matter-of-factly arranging to give up half of everything he owned, just as he had given away his heart-stone - and closet space.

And Kimble didn't know what to say.

It wasn't the sudden influx of wealth. As a surgeon he was hardly going to be on welfare - besides, Helen's fortune was sitting untouched, not that he would ever use it for himself. It had become blood-money and he would have no part of it. But this - Somewhat blurry-eyed, he stared at Gerard. It wouldn't have occurred to Sam not to share everything he had but this off-hand bestowal was so typical that it left him scrambling for the right words.

Clearing his throat, he managed to say his lover's name on his second attempt.

"Yeah, some more coffee would be great," responded Gerard absently, holding out his mug. "I don't believe what I'm reading here. They'll be suggesting we start crocheting doilies next - or whatever it is those frilly things are called. Are you OK?" he added, setting down his empty mug when he looked up and saw his lover's expression.

"When did you decide to do this?" Kimble gestured to the pile of papers.

Gerard looked faintly defensive. "I set this in motion when you announced it was worth putting up with me to live in this house."

"All that time ago?" blurted out Kimble, taken aback.

"I know. Lawyers have two speeds, slow and slower."

"That isn't what I meant, Sam."

Gerard grimaced. "No need to make a production out of this. It's no big deal. I just didn't realize how long the lawyers, accountants and tax advisers would take. It seems like I've let you in for a hefty tax bill," he added with no audible regret.

"I guess that's the price of love. This is so damn typical of you," Kimble added gruffly, giving the other man a hug whether he wanted it or not.

"What, setting the IRS on you?" The arms around Gerard tightened their grip. "Jeez, those workouts must be paying off," he wheezed theatrically. "I swear that was the sound of a rib cracking. No, don't - Oh, the hell with it," he muttered, hugging Kimble back.

"So does this mean I get to drive the Ferrari every day?" Kimble asked some time later, when most of him was wrapped around most of his lover.

Having offered the other man the car when they began to live together, Gerard didn't rise to the bait. "Hell, you can have it. I only did this in the hope that I'd finally be allowed to drive the Corvette."

Kimble drew back slightly to give him a look of consternation. "You mean you haven't?"

Gerard shook his head. "It's no big deal," he said bravely.

"But you could have it any time, you know that. Christ, you _do_ know that? I just never thought to tell you as much, I guess but - You bastard," Kimble broke off to say with outrage. "I can't believe I walked into that one."

"Me neither," said Gerard smugly, just before the arms wrapped around him tightened their grip. The mumbled threats in his ear had no effect whatsoever.

***

 

Striding into the bathroom, glowing with sweat after the workout he and Sam had shared in the gym, Kimble paused, a smile of pure delight on his face. While romantic candlelight was out because of the amount of sunlight pouring into the room, the air coming in through the open window had been sweetened by the recent rainstorm and was alive with bird song. But more than that, the tub was full of frothy bubbles.

His face alight with pleasure, he smiled at his lover. "This is great, Sam." They had been finding excuses to spoil each other all week. The fight had scared them both, reminding them that contentment couldn't be taken for granted.

Already naked, Gerard pulled his lover's sweat-darkened top over his head. "Today's our four month anniversary," he offered in his most casual tone. The backs of his fingers brushed Kimble's belly, making it twitch as he unfastened the knot in the waistband of the other man's sweatpants.

"I know," said Kimble, sounding smug.

Crouched down where he was easing away the other man's jockstrap, Gerard looked up. The heady scent of his lover filling his senses, he looked distracted. "I thought you didn't remember anniversaries."

"I'm aiming to work on that," said Kimble. He didn't add that their fight had focused him on their relationship and every precious day they spent together. He shivered when a broad tongue licked the junction where thigh and torso met.

"I only realized fifteen minutes ago," Gerard paused to admit.

"Yeah? Then I'm ahead of you. There's champagne in the fridge. I thought we could indulge ourselves tonight but I guess this is going to turn into one of those days of torrid sex and alcohol."

Gerard grinned. "Could I have some enthusiasm here?" Nudging his lover's stirring cock with the side of his nose as he got to his feet, he gave a lazy stretch. Muscles slid under his skin and Kimble couldn't have looked away to save his life.

The previous week had been stressful for them both as they discovered their power to hurt one another to the bone. Gerard's looks were the kind which betrayed him faster and took longer to recover. His face was still closer to gaunt than lean, brown shadows like bruises under his eyes.

Kimble's hand settled over Gerard's side, only to find he was covering the bullet wound he had inflicted. The skin was still pink and puckered, where the wound had pulled open so many times before it had been given a chance to heal. Abruptly Kimble had a flashback to Sophy's hospital room after the gunfight, when Sam had blocked the doorway, using his own body to protect the man he believed - however fleetingly - had deliberately shot at him.

"Checking that I still bear your mark?" said Gerard flippantly. To his horror Kimble flinched, straightened and backed off a couple of paces.

"Do you think I need reminding of how close I came to killing you?" Kimble demanded hoarsely.

It was only then that Gerard appreciated that, given a choice, Richard never touched the small scar. Taking Kimble's hand in his own, he deliberately set the palm over the area and held it there. "You might be one of the best vascular surgeons in the country, but I'm considered reasonably good at my job. Part of which is knowing which parts of the body to guard. Trust me, you weren't even close to killing me. Now you can make yourself miserable wondering what could have happened but that would be wallowing - and the only acceptable way to do that is with me, in the tub. OK?" The cautious way he unkinked his back did more to distract Kimble than anything he could have said.

"You could use a massage," Kimble said, patting his lover on his flat belly.

Gerard gave him a frankly hopeful look. "Yes, I could. Are you offering?"

"It's hardly a penance," Kimble pointed out tartly. "Why didn't you say?" It didn't occur to him to wonder why the other man had looked so full of vitality until only a few moments ago.

"I was going to lead up to it, in a roundabout sort of way."

"I'll give you one after you've soaked in the tub." Kimble knew the other man must be tired when he stepped into the water without a murmur of argument.

Gerard gave a sigh of appreciation as he sank into the steaming water, just before he had to start brushing away the bubbles, which rose so high they threatened to cover his mouth and nose.

A soft stream of Spanish floated over to Kimble.

"Over-doing it as usual?" he enquired as he sat on the rim of the tub, which was wide enough to provide a comfortable seat. His legs hung over the side, knee deep in silky hot water.

"I have a generous nature. And I dropped the bottle," Gerard admitted.

"That's one way to give yourself a cheap thrill," remarked Kimble, idly batting an insubstantial piece of froth Gerard's way.

"Why would I need to do that, I've got you," Gerard retorted, straight-faced.

Kicking his feet in the water, Kimble happily watched as bubbles flew everywhere. When the storm eased, he began to laugh when the settling bubbles revealed the sight of Gerard with a cluster clinging to his nose, more on his eyebrows and drooping from his hair. By this time a tidal wave of water had surged over both men and the bathroom floor was soaked.

"I'm glad one of us thinks this is funny," growled Gerard, setting his lover off again.

Watching with great satisfaction as the other man unwound fully, Gerard slid down until he was completely lost from sight under the bubbles.

Kimble stopped kicking the water, tensed and then relaxed with a grimace. "I'm not falling for that old gag," he announced with more defiance than credibility. "There's no way Sam Gerard would allow himself the embarrassment of drowning in his own bathtub, particularly not while it's full of bubbles. And scented bubbles at that. Sam?"

Even though he had been scanning the surface for signs of life he gasped when a sleek black head emerged between his parted thighs.

His hands on Kimble's legs pinning him in place, bubbles streamed down Gerard's face. He gave one of his sharklike smiles, then bent to mouth his lover's testicles.

A squeak escaping him, Kimble flung his arms behind him to support his weight and prepared to enjoy himself. To his dismay that wonderful mouth left him just as things were beginning to get interesting.

"You taste of that damn perfume," growled Gerard, wiping a soapy hand down his face and grimacing his opinion of the scent. "Go shower and I'll think about carrying on where I left off."

Kimble gave him a look of pathos which he abandoned when he recognized the expression which experience had taught him there was no arguing with. "You're a hard man," he said sadly.

"Only half, but get rid of the cissy perfume and who knows what might happen."

"But you smell fantastic," Kimble protested, leaning forward to nuzzle the strong throat. He discovered that Gerard's skin tasted appalling. "We'll both shower," he said with a sigh of defeat before he brightened. "It's more comfortable making out in bed anyway."

"I'm aspiring to something more exciting than 'comfortable'," Gerard told him.

"Every man should have a dream," Kimble agreed solemnly.

Teeth scraped his nipple and he briefly cupped the sodden dark head, his own head going back as he offered his throat.

"Not while you taste this bad," Gerard growled.

As he rose to his feet bubbles slid down his body. He had undergone a remarkable transformation from the tired looking man of a short time ago: enough to have aroused Kimble's suspicions if he had been thinking with his brain. Then the contrast between powerful male animal in full arousal and delicate, incongruous bubbles became too much and Kimble started to laugh again.

Taking the back of Kimble's neck in a firm grasp, Gerard marched him into the shower, then stepped in behind him and began to wash him down, taking particular care with those difficult little creases.

Rapidly accepting that the only thing they were going to do in bed was collapse, Kimble fumbled for the lubricant, which sat in the recess in the wall intended for the soap. His toes curling with anticipation, he silently handed it behind him.

His face pressed against the tiles, hands splayed out, he moaned the moment the lush gel jetted into him. The sounds he made intensified as Gerard began to fuck him with a show of power and possession that left Kimble incoherent with pleasure, only the other man's strength keeping him on his feet by the end.

"Happy anniversary," growled Gerard.

Kimble managed a faint moan.


	3. COCK-A-HOOP

"I'm late," said Kimble unnecessarily, just before he kissed Gerard in the general direction of his mouth. "Mini-crisis just as I was leaving." He glanced over Gerard's shoulder. "You didn't wait to start the poker game?"

Gerard shook his head. "After we spoke I rang around and postponed it to the same time next week. Joel can't make it then as he's got a meeting in Europe but it suited everyone else better than tonight. Though Liam did say he was beginning to wonder if you existed - or maybe that you're so ugly I keep you locked from sight. I told him you had a squint."

"That's a distinct possibility tonight. Though I could wear a hump, too," Kimble offered as he dropped his car keys in the bowl next to those for the Ferrari. "I'm looking forward to meeting the guys you went to college with."

"Only because you're hoping for all the dirt on me," recognized Gerard with a grin.

"That, too," acknowledged Kimble. He was still accustoming himself to the number of people with the right to call Sam friend. In fact he wasn't sure if he'd heard about all of them yet. They came from all walks of life and spheres of influence and many of them had first met Sam at college; they ranged from an international industrialist, via firefighters and cops to a historian who also wrote poetry. Although as Sam had said, the rest of the guys preferred not to think about that.

Easing out of his suit jacket, Kimble flexed his stiffened neck and shoulders. "I've been meaning to ask, because I haven't met many of your friends outside the department, but - Are they OK with you being gay?"

Gerard blinked. "What?"

"I mean, us being lovers won't change anything between you and them, will it?"

"What brought this on?" enquired Gerard, with a piece of evasion his companion was too tired to notice.

"I don't know," Kimble admitted slowly. "Charlie's - Charles Nichols' - " he amended in a belated effort to distance himself, "name came up in the conversation in connection with work and it got me thinking. Kathy's my only real friend left from the old days, the only person who kept believing in me despite all the evidence to the contrary. I'd hate to lose her. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

Gerard leant back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "Richard, if they had that much of a problem they wouldn't be much of a friend, now would they. There are a couple of people I probably won't be seeing again but the rest - " He shrugged, then gave a wry grin. "I admit some of the reactions were pretty predictable. One or two will be kind of awkward till they've got used to the idea. I think Liam still half-believes I'm setting him up."

"You can't blame him for that," said Kimble, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're hardly the gay stereotype, now are you?"

"Nor are Robert and Wesley - they get more hassle for being a multi-racial couple than because they’re gay. In my experience people rarely oblige by fitting the stereotype marked out for them. Relax. Find something else to worry about," Gerard added gently, having learnt that this was a pattern of behaviour when Richard was wired and too tired to sleep.

"OK," said Kimble obediently. "I can't pretend I'm sorry the game's off. I'm beat. This way we can enjoy a couple of beers, maybe watch some TV." He did that so rarely that what was an everyday event for most people was a real treat to him.

"I figured as much," said Gerard, who was learning that if not highly energized after a long day in surgery, Richard needed to go into semi-hibernation for a few hours to recharge his batteries. "There's your favorite pizza and a double bill of Bogart. Plus beer, popcorn and me."

"That sounds terrific," said Kimble in heartfelt tones.

"Go have a shower, I'll give you a backrub before we eat."

"I don't deserve you," said Kimble humbly.

"I know this," returned Gerard, one hand in the small of his lover's back. With any luck Richard would have unwound enough to fall asleep halfway through the first film, 'Casablanca'.

Instead, revitalised by a lengthy shower, massage, food and one beer, Kimble began to look vaguely human again.

"Which ice cream do you want?" enquired Gerard. "There's Cherry Garcia or Phish Food."

"Both," decided Kimble, avoiding the necessity of making any complicated decisions.

"Sit tight. I'll see to it," said Gerard.

By the time he returned to the living room the television was off.

"No Bogart?" Gerard queried.

"I'd rather have you. Did I think to tell you about the idea I had to change my office?" Kimble added through a luxurious mouthful of black cherry ice cream.

"At the hospital?"

"Like I get a choice. Get real. Besides, an office is an office. No, I meant here, of course."

"No, you haven't mentioned any new plans for the house for at least three days," said Gerard, his eyes warm with affection as he watched Kimble search to see how many chocolate fish he had. Since Richard had heard that Ginny had been responsible for the color schemes, carpets and soft-furnishings, he had been busy with plans to redecorate the house from attic to cellar. Best of all, there was no indication that he had recognized these signs of possessiveness in himself.

"It'll mean some disorganisation for a while," Kimble warned, spooning four fish into Gerard's dish.

"That'll be novel," murmured Gerard. "Why are you giving me those?"

"Because you like them," said Kimble, as if it should have been obvious. "I know it will be kind of chaotic but I think it'll be worth it in the end. We only use the den to store books and it hasn't got room for any more shelves, which means we're already stacking books on the floor. We could move them into here. Then I move my office into what was the den - so I'm opposite your office."

"The key attraction," nodded Gerard.

Kimble grimaced. "If you must know, when we're both working I do feel kind of cut-off upstairs. Damn it, I knew you'd grin."

"But you told me anyway."

"I've just remembered, I won't be able to make next week's poker game either."

"They're definitely gonna think I'm hiding you in the attic at this rate," said Gerard with conviction.

Kimble waved that irrelevance aside. "I'll be at that conference in Seattle."

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that." Gerard looked unenthusiastic. "What are you looking so pleased about?" he growled, unhappy at the forthcoming separation.

"Well at least you're not celebrating the fact I'm going away," explained Kimble. Leaning forward to kiss his companion, he inadvertently gave him one, only slightly sucked, chocolate fish.

Gerard chewed it with obvious relish.

***

 

"I hadn't realized how hungry I was." Kimble eyed his empty plate with regret and what little food remained on Gerard's with avarice. "I'd hate to see you get middle-age spread," he mused, with what he fondly believed to be subtlety.

"Me, too." Gerard's tone held the cheerful unconcern of a man who'd never had a weight problem. He finished his pasta in two mouthfuls, but softened enough to break the last breadstick in half. "You skipped lunch," he recognized.

"Like you didn't?" Kimble returned, crunching with gusto.

"Not intentionally. So have you finished that paper of yours yet?"

"Given that I fly out early Monday morning, you better hope I have," said Kimble dryly. "I'll only be gone for a week," he added, as if the other man had spoken.

"I hadn't forgotten." Gerard pushed his fork around his empty plate. "I wish I could have wangled the time to come with you."

"I know. Just think what you've missed. Seattle in the rain, with four hundred and fifty surgeons - rarely the best company in the world, with the obvious exception of me - listening to me read a paper where you'll be lucky to understand one word in fifteen."

"Hey, I'm a bright guy. One in ten."

"That's true," Kimble conceded, yet to lose the touching belief that his lover could do anything he put his mind to. "You want to hear it?" he added, his manner ultra-casual.

"Sure," nodded Gerard.

"I hoped you might." Kimble gave a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know why, but it always helps to read things through to you."

Gerard tried for a look of becoming modesty, failed and got up to fix the coffee while Kimble went to fetch a print-out of the paper he was to present to the conference.

***

Not wanting to waste any of their weekend, Kimble sorted out socks, briefs, toiletries and ties while Gerard was caught on the telephone just after breakfast on Saturday morning. He glanced up from the open suitcase to see his pensive-looking lover propped in the doorway, watching him from under his eyelashes, his mouth set in the closest it ever came to a pout.

"It's only a week. Six days really," said Kimble, with the sound of a man trying to convince himself.

"I know that," said Gerard with a nod of his head. "I'm starting to get a sense of how you feel when I have to go away," he admitted.

His weight shifting, he reached behind him, giving a wriggle which made Kimble forget the never very engrossing topic of whether he had enough clean socks. Gerard's contortions produced a small, elegant-looking forest green jewellers' box from the back pocket of his jeans. Giving it a wry look he tossed it across to Kimble, who caught it automatically. When he saw the expression on the other man's face, Gerard's expression further soured.

"Now don't go getting wussy on me, Richard. It's just - " He gave a dismissive shrug which imperfectly concealed his self-consciousness. "I saw it and thought it would look good on you, OK. It's no big deal."

"I could have put money on you saying that," Kimble mused affectionately.

The box alone was a work of art. Recognizing the name of the highly-expensive jewellers whose team of designers specialised in bespoke pieces, Kimble stopped trying to second-guess what might be inside. Knowing Sam, he could be certain what it wouldn't contain. Widening his eyes, he batted his lashes and said in his most soulful voice: "Oh, Sam. You've got us matching eternity rings. What poem did you get them inscribed with? Rod McKuen or Kahlil Gibran?"

The appalled look on Gerard's face was all he had hoped for and more. Try as he might, laughter spluttered from him; it just got worse when he saw the horror turn to outrage as Gerard realized he'd been had. Sinking onto the edge of the bed he pulled Gerard down next to him to provide some much needed support, his ability to control himself not helped by his companion's low-voiced but eloquent opinion of him.

One arm still wrapped around his aching middle, Kimble slowly straightened. "God, Sam. That was easier than taking candy from a baby. I wish I'd had my camera here." He paused to wipe moisture from the corners of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Gerard growled something and tightened the arm he'd slung around his lover's shoulders.

Secure in the circle of that embrace, Kimble opened the box to reveal a small disk on a simple yet elegant chain. His expression unguarded, he laced the links around his fingers and touched the gently swinging disk with the forefinger of his free hand.

"Saint Christopher. The patron saint of travellers." His voice was husky. "It's beautiful, Sam. It is," he insisted, when he looked up to see Gerard watching him with a mixture of resignation, pleasure and embarrassment. "Will you put it on for me?"

Nodding, Gerard took it from him and slipped the chain around the powerful lines of his lover's beautiful throat. It took him a few seconds to deal with the fiddly catch. When it was done, he briefly placed his mouth to the vulnerable nape of the neck.

Kimble turned to eye him with a disconcerting shrewdness. "So now you've got me wearing your collar and chain." He crooked one eyebrow.

Gerard didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "It's dumb, I know," he acknowledged, wry but far from apologetic.

"But you get a kick out of it?"

"Yes. Damn it."

Kimble slid an arm around Sam's waist. "I'll let you into a secret. I'm getting a kick out of wearing it."

Enjoying the rich, warm gleam of the silver-colored metal against tanned flesh, Gerard tucked the chain and disk out of sight under Kimble's deep blue tee shirt. It was enough to know it was there; he didn't need to see it.

Kimble peered down at his own chest and ran the side of his thumb around the edge of the now hidden disk. "It's perfect." He pulled the neck of Gerard's black tee shirt away from his body. "Where's yours?"

"My what?" asked Gerard in puzzlement.

"Your Saint Christopher, of course."

Gerard parted his hands. "Why would I buy one for myself?"

"With all the travelling you do? I should have known. Come on." Getting to his feet, Kimble pulled Gerard to his feet and headed for the door.

Nonplussed, Gerard stared after him. "Where are we going?"

"To buy you one, too. Don't bother arguing. You're having one, clear?"

Gerard nodded unenthusiastically.

"Don't sulk. You don't have to wear it around your neck," Kimble anticipated as he bundled the other man from the bedroom.

Gerard paused halfway down the stairs to give him a look of the deepest suspicion.

"Not there either." Kimble grinned. "Though it's tempting. Now haul that gorgeous ass. We're going shopping."

 

"That's the third jewellers we've passed," complained Gerard, who had been hustled out of the house without so much as his sunglasses, let alone a jacket, wallet or the chance to change into clean clothes.

"If you think I'm going to fob you off with the sort of crap they sell, think again. If platinum's good enough for me - Though I won't be able to get you one exactly like mine. This is a bespoke piece, isn't it? Which means you must have ordered it some time ago."

"Do we have to waste today shopping?" asked Gerard plaintively, ducking the question.

"I thought it was. Quit whining."

"Boy, you're in a masterful mood. I hope this wears off before tonight," said Gerard pensively.

"Liar," recognized Kimble with a smug grin.

Catching a glimpse of their reflections in the plate-glass window of a department store as they strode along side by side, Gerard gave in gracefully. "You got me."

"I know," said Kimble with glee. "I intend to keep hold of you, too. I think I'll get yours inscribed," he mused, unable to resist the temptation to tease.

"With a poem by Rod McKuen?" said Gerard. All wide-eyed innocence, he was in grave danger of looking cute. Only the fact they were in public saved him from retribution.

 

By the time they got home they had a stack of bags and parcels after Kimble had pointed out that they rarely had the chance to go shopping together; their schedules conflicted so often that even the buying of groceries was usually done separately. Gerard needed little encouragement to buy presents and absolutely none to buy things for Kimble. Although he looked very smug when Kimble remembered they still hadn't replaced the rug they had ruined when they were fooling around back in April.

"Did you remember it?" Kimble asked with suspicion.

"Of course, but I didn't see why we should waste our time together buying a rug."

"What is it you've got against them?"

Gerard gave him a side-on look. "I don't do soft-furnishings. Too damn domesticated," he growled.

Kimble patted him on the thigh. "You don't need to worry. Big Dog hasn't been neutered. I don't know why you're being so cranky, you got to drive the Corvette."

Gerard shook his head at him, then grinned. "You could regret that. The Ferrari's terrific but - You can't beat a Corvette," he admitted, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

"Reliving your misspent youth?"

Gerard gave a rueful nod.

"I look forward to hearing the details." Kimble deposited the last of the bags on the driveway. "I don't remember us buying this much."

"I do."

"Don't give me that," scoffed Kimble. "Or haven't you noticed how many things you bought for me? At least we've got some stuff for you, too," he added with satisfaction. He had forgotten how much fun buying presents for someone you loved could be.

"Including a forty-four inch widescreen TV for the bedroom?" enquired Gerard dryly as he collected up a load of bags and parcels.

"You can't beat watching the game lying in bed with some beer and popcorn," said Kimble in the dreamy tones of one anticipating the pleasures ahead of him.

"Bet I can," said Gerard with feeling.

Kimble's look of glee faded. "I forgot you don't watch sports. OK, scrap that idea. I'll think of somewhere else to put it."

"What, and leave me with nothing to bitch about? It'll be fine," said Gerard easily.

Undeceived, Kimble gave him a look of gloom. "No, it won't. I couldn't stand you looking noble. Besides, I'd far rather screw."

"Me?" checked Gerard.

"You humble is about as convincing as me celibate. Of course you." Nudging Gerard back against the Corvette, Kimble's palm settled on his flank. "Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I've been," he muttered into Sam's neck.

Tucking his arms around the other man, his palms massaging that wonderful ass, Gerard thought of all Richard had been through. There wasn't a trace of sentiment on his face or in his voice when he nudged Kimble's head with his own. "I do have that effect on people," he acknowledged modestly.

His butt received a light slap, the fingers remaining on him in a possessive splay. The side of Kimble's thumb slipped down the cleft of his ass, making him move despite himself, just as Kimble's lips moved against his, a practised tongue slipping into his mouth. The sun-warmed body of the Corvette pressing into his back and Kimble plastered against his front, it was a while before Gerard appreciated that the sound he could hear was his cellular phone. He was on stand-by. Mumbling as much, he leant into the interior of the car to retrieve his phone. It was easier to concentrate when Richard moved away.

Patiently reassuring one of his more anxious deputies, Gerard bolstered Pollock's confidence with a series of instructions, made a couple of brief calls to reinforce them before he could forget, and wandered into the house.

Kimble set down the last of the bags to drift over to him. "Where was I?" he mused, his hands settling over Gerard again.

"That's pretty close. Can we eat before we make out?" Gerard enquired.

"As soon as you've told me what you intend to do with this." Kimble handed over the jewellers' box.

Gerard thought wistfully of the food they had bought. "Will it be all right if I keep it in my wallet?"

"That'll be fine, Sam." With an artistic flourish Kimble produced the other man's wallet, which he had collected from the bedroom.

Gerard grimaced. "Am I that predictable?"

Kimble nodded but the expression in his eyes was tender.

"Thanks a lot, Richard. Do me a favor, next time lie," Gerard advised him.

"Let's say you're dependable. It sounds better."

"No, it makes me sound like Old Yeller. I kind of hoped I'd be more exciting than that."

"Yeah?" Kimble looked sympathetic.

Grinning, Gerard flipped open his wallet. As he tucked away his Saint Christopher a passport-sized photograph slipped out of one section. He grabbed at it but Kimble reached it first. His joking comment faded when he saw the dog-eared photo was the unflattering picture of himself that had appeared in the newspapers shortly after he had been taken into custody by the Marshals Office. There was a butterfly plaster across one eyebrow and he looked - numb. But then that was how he had felt for a long time after he had been publicly exonerated for Helen's murder.

Until he'd met Sam again, in fact.

He glanced at the picture again, then silently handed it back. Taking it from him, Gerard's glare dared him to comment before he tucked it away again, taking care not to crease it any further.

"Where did you get it from?" Kimble asked eventually.

Gerard exhaled noisily, then came clean with obvious reluctance. "I stole it from the department file before it went to your lawyers for shredding," he muttered, avoiding his lover's gaze.

"Why that photograph?" Kimble asked curiously. There had been a period when his picture never seemed to be out of the damn papers.

"I guess it reminded me of the time when I was coming to terms with the knowledge I'd fallen in love with you."

Silent, Kimble rubbed the other man's forearm, unwilling to contemplate what that time must have been like for Sam. "Can I ask you an impossible question?" he asked eventually, looking vaguely troubled.

"You can ask me anything you want," Gerard told him simply.

"I know and I do, it's just that this one's even dumber than usual. You probably can't answer it. What made you fall in love with me? Do you know? You don't have to reply," Kimble added quickly.

Gerard gave him a quizzical look. "Richard, I meant what I said. You can ask me anything. I'm not really sure. It was a whole mixture. But I know what confirmed it, while I was still reeling from what had happened. It was because after everything you'd been through you still had a sense of humor. We sat in the back of my car and - You looked terrible. I'd come close to killing you - twice. You'd had all kinds of shit kicked out of you - physically and emotionally. CPD had been gunning for you and yet you managed to crack a joke. Not a very good one. But still a joke. And more than that, one totally without malice. It was then that I knew beyond doubt that I was in love with you."

The measure of trust Gerard placed in him demonstrated by the mere fact he was talking about this, Kimble's expression was soft with love. Then he was touching the other man lightly with his fingertips, as if needing the reassurance of physical contact.

"I've wanted a photo of you for so long, but I thought you'd just give me one of your looks if I suggested it," he muttered.

"What looks?" countered Gerard.

"That one," said Kimble. "But you can forget about me going without one any longer. You haven't got a leg to stand on. Don't go away," he instructed, just before he took off up the stairs.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Gerard ignored the order and followed him into their bedroom, where Kimble was searching through the chest of drawers.

"What are you doing?" Gerard asked.

"Throwing socks on the floor right now."

"I got that far. Is this some bizarre ritual you do when there's a full moon or what?"

"Got it," said Kimble with satisfaction, although he gave Gerard no time to see what as he turned to him with something held behind his back. "Can I ask one more favor before we make out?"

"I know what it is, you're trying to starve me to death. OK, what do I have to do?" asked Gerard, looking resigned.

"Just smile." Kimble produced a camera from behind him with a flourish worthy of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. "I want to take your picture. Save it, Sam. Given that you've been carrying a dog-eared old photograph of me around with you, you aren't in any position to start looking superior. I'd been wondering how to talk you into this. Now I don't have to bother."

"I never thought you'd kick a guy when he's down," mused Gerard, more in sorrow than in anger.

"Shows how much you know," retorted Kimble, unimpressed. He spoilt the effect when he made no attempt to take Gerard's picture until he'd been given permission.

"Wuss," mocked Gerard lovingly. "Just get on with it."

Kimble gave a grin of satisfaction. "I suppose beef-cake's out of the question?"

Gerard gave him a long-suffering look, then saw the trace of wistfulness on his lover's face; even though he knew it was assumed, he couldn't hold out against it. "I give up," he muttered. "Especially if it means I get to eat before the millennium. You've got five minutes," he added. He yanked his tee shirt over his head, then unzipped his fly and drew down his jeans and shorts.

Kimble abandoned the camera and was at Gerard's side faster than an iron filing drawn to a powerful magnet. Sinking to his knees, he dealt with boots and socks and the jeans and shorts that were now caught around Sam's ankles. Then, taking an appreciative breath, he stared up the length of the long bare, brown legs.

"My, my, my," he murmured, just before he mouthed Gerard's testicles, his beautiful hands sliding up and down the back of Sam's thighs.

 

"I could get to like making out in bed," announced Gerard drowsily as he rubbed his face against his own arm where it was crooked above his head. Relaxed and lethargic, he opened his eyes when he felt Kimble slide from the mattress. Enjoying the glorious view provided by Richard's backside, his eyes closed when it disappeared from his line of vision. Drifting, he was vaguely aware of the sounds of life in the room.

"Sam?"

He opened his eyes to a barrage of flashes from the camera Kimble was wielding.

"Jeez," he groaned, his forearm going over his eyes. "What are you on, Richard? If you try to get those negatives developed you're liable to be arrested." His toes received a friendly squeeze when Kimble walked past the foot of the bed.

"Hey, I might be besotted with you but even I'm not that dumb. I just took pictures of you from the neck up. Mainly of your face."

"Great," sighed Gerard with resignation.

"What's wrong now?" asked Kimble, settling himself back on the bed and propping himself up on one elbow the better to watch his lover.

Gerard gave him a patient look. "Unless there's been a miracle, one glance at my face and anyone will be able to tell I've just been fucked."

"And sucked," Kimble reminded him smugly.

Gerard laced his fingers in the glossy hair where it was thickest and gently shook Kimble's head from side to side. "Like I'm going to forget."

"I'm going to buy a Polaroid so I can indulge myself," decided Kimble, lost in happy speculations.

After one look at his lover's expression of dreamy anticipation Gerard didn't have the heart to protest. "Can I eat now?" he asked, deadpan.

Growling deep in his throat, Kimble swooped. Pinning Gerard on the bed, he began to suck at the tempting protuberance of his navel. Gerard convulsed as if receiving electric shock treatment before squirming helplessly, co-ordination and the ability to defend himself lost.

Given an insight into what it must be like to ride a bucking bronco, Kimble stopped sucking and raised his face out of harm's way. As Gerard stilled beneath him he stared down at him, enchanted by this discovery. Having been lovers since February, he had assumed he had discovered all of Sam's secrets. He made a mental note to check out a few other spots.

"I take it you'd rather I stopped?" he said, settling himself over the other man. Out of consideration for Gerard's breathless state he supported his weight on his forearms and began to lick sweat from the hollow at the base of the strong throat in a thoughtful fashion.

"You bastard," groaned Gerard with chagrin. "I promised myself I'd never let you find out about that."

"In case I take to torturing you at night?" asked Kimble, pausing to stare into the dark eyes.

"You mean you wouldn't?" said Gerard, unimpressed. His palms continued to slide up and down his lover's spine, buttocks and thighs.

"Only if you piss me off," Kimble promised. "I don't understand. You don't have a problem when it comes to having your belly sucked. Just as well, because I don't think I could give up on that activity. You have a seriously sexy belly."

"You're weird."

"Says the man who just lost it. At least I know how to keep you in line now," Kimble said happily. "While I'm here, do you want to screw?"

Laughter sparkling in his eyes, Gerard gave the other man's ass a light slap. "You're such a romantic. And a born optimist."

"I am as it happens." Kimble traced the side of his thumb from nipple to nipple and avoided his lover's steady gaze. "I wish I'd thought to take your picture sooner," he said in a low voice. "Every time I look at those photos I'll remember us making love today. How long we played. The way your face looked when I moved in you. The sounds you made when I made you come. You think I won't get a kick out of being reminded that I can make you look like this?"

"Goofy?" said Gerard, resolute in his determination to avoid sentiment.

Undeceived, Kimble stroked the dark hair from where it had fallen into Gerard's eyes, then cradled his face between his hands. His thumbs stroked down the sickle-shaped creases which deepened as Gerard gave one of his rare, slow, blindingly sweet smiles.

"God, you're so beautiful," muttered Kimble helplessly.

Cushioning the other man with his own body, Kimble's face hidden against him by this time, Gerard murmured something indulgent. The words 'sad' and 'case' were in there somewhere.

 

They spent Sunday together out in the yard, enjoying the sun and the privacy and the chance for some uninterrupted time together. They ended up wandering amongst the trees, dappled by shadow and sun.

"I'm going to miss this," said Kimble, his voice slightly roughened as he was ambushed by waves of emotion.

"It'll all be here when you get back," comforted Gerard, suspecting what really lay behind that announcement. Richard had more cause than most to know how quickly life could be turned inside out and happiness lost.

"You make sure it is."

"Hey, I'm the dependable one, remember?"

"Wasn't that predictable?" mused Kimble, his mood miraculously lighting.

His forearms folded over a convenient, chest-high branch, he made no resistance when Gerard padded up behind him and slowly removed all his clothing, leaving him naked except for his Saint Christopher and watch.

"When was the last time we made out under the shade of a whatever this tree is?" mused Gerard, slapping the smooth bark before he returned to stroking his lover's naked back.

Reaching behind him, Kimble's hands settled over Gerard's flanks and drew him even closer. "Last week some time. We fell asleep afterwards. By the time we woke up the sun had moved round, which meant I burnt my butt."

"So we did. You can leave your ass for me to look after," Gerard promised him, his large hands sliding up and down Richard's bare flanks.

Kimble changed stance slightly, settling his feet squarely in the cool grass. His bare toes clenched and unclenched in anticipation. "Have you got any lube?"

"No," sighed Gerard as he mouthed his way up under the other man's hairline.

"Then it's lucky I grabbed some on my way out," said Kimble with a smugness which in other circumstances Gerard would have found nauseating. "Back pocket of my jeans," he instructed.

"I've got it."

Gerard eased the first liberally-coated finger into his lover, who arched his back, making the muscles ripple under the tanned skin as he made incoherent sounds of encouragement. Gerard nip-nuzzled a salty shoulder. "How do you want to do this?"

His forehead resting on his forearms, Kimble lifted his head and half-turned. When he saw the love on Gerard's face he forgot the flippant comment he had been about to make. "Anyway you want me, Sam. Just make it count."

Stretching his arms along the branch, he caught hold of it for support and leant forward, offering himself up. His Saint Christopher swung free to glint in the sunlight filtering through the branches, the speed of its swing increasing as his body began to move to the rhythm being dictated to it.

 

Up before five on Monday morning, Kimble was taken aback to discover Sam had beaten him to it. When he took the bags downstairs Gerard was in the kitchen, with coffee and breakfast waiting for him.

"Hi. I thought this would save us a few minutes," Gerard said. While he smiled, he looked tense and there was no music playing.

Abruptly Kimble thought of their fight. All he could remember was the pain in Gerard's eyes when he had left for work with only a tentative peace established; the same wariness was there now. Sam positively thrived on a good argument, but he was vulnerable to being closed out. "You didn't have to get up," he said, a lump in his throat.

"I know. I figured I could give you a ride to the airport," said Gerard gruffly. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold."

Taking the hint, Kimble did as he was told but he made no more than a token attempt to eat. Telling himself it was ridiculous did nothing to help.

Gerard was called away ten minutes before Kimble had to leave and so their goodbyes were hurried and made in the privacy of the house before they drove off in different directions.

 

Having met up with his travelling companion, Kimble pinned a look of interest in place; it never took long for John Linton to run out of conversation. Today it lasted only until the plane began to taxi down the runway. Relieved, Kimble opened his attache case for something to read and paused when he discovered that Sam had added a few items. The large piece of card listed some beautifully printed instructions that began 'In case of an emergency dial 9ll' and ended with the telephone numbers of their home and Sam's mobile. Life slipping back into sync, Kimble's smile was a private thing as he tucked the card back into his case. The Superman lunchbox and thermos brought a broad grin to his face and he took out the two Superman comics along with his medical journals. He looked up to find Linton giving him a quizzical look and shrugged.

"What can I say, I like Superman."

Giving Kimble a look of incomprehension, Linton buried himself in his newspaper.

Waving aside the airline's offer of lunch, Kimble opened his Man of Steel lunchbox with anticipation. Gerard didn't disappoint him. There was a huge, fragrant cinnamon roll, two apples, a handful of apricots and sandwiches: peanut butter and relish. His expression as bland as the milk in his thermos, Kimble offered Linton a sandwich, took a healthy bite from the cinnamon roll and opened his Superman comic just as he heard a choked sound from the man beside him.

***

 

"Is this a bad time to talk?" asked Kimble, when Gerard finally answered his mobile phone.

"No, I just couldn't remember where I'd left it. Turned out it was in the hall."

"I thought I'd be more likely to reach you on this. I'm missing you," Kimble added in mild complaint.

"That's good."

"Not for me it isn't. You mentioned the hall. Are you back home?"

"Two hours ago," confirmed Gerard, swallowing a yawn as he got back into bed and punched up the pillows behind him.

"Where are you?"

"Bed."

"Damn. I wake you?"

"Unless this is a dream I'm having, it looks like it," Gerard agreed as he stretched out his legs.   
"You want me to ring off?"

"Eventually. How was your paper received?"

"Well. There's been a lot of interest. I had an intriguing offer today," Kimble added with would-be casualness.

"Are we talking work here, Richard?"

Kimble's smile was evident in his voice. "I _think_ so. It's been so long I can't remember."

"Four days."

"And six hours."

"OK, you've made your point."

"I could make it better in person," sighed Kimble as he realized there were over two days to go before he would be home.

"That's certainly true," agreed Gerard, brisk because one of them had to be.

"How do you feel about phone sex?" asked Kimble, breaking the faint mood of melancholy. Sam wasn't a man given to laughing out loud, but Kimble was willing to swear he could see his wide, silent grin, those dark eyes bright with affection.

"Maybe after I've caught up on some sleep," said Gerard, his voice warm with amusement. "Cosmo says to come home soon."

"Cosmo's there?" said Kimble, puzzled.

"In bed with me? Get a grip, Richard. Caroline would never go for that."

"I wish you didn't sound so wistful," laughed Kimble. Having met the delectable Mrs Renfro he could understand Gerard's enthusiasm. Apart from being ravishingly pretty and good company, she had the good taste to adore Sam. "Why's Cosmo with you?"

Gerard gave a patient sigh. "I thought I was the one short on sleep. He isn't. He just seemed to take it for granted you and I would be talking to one another at some point. He also seems to think I've been kind of cranky while you've been away."

"Yeah?" Kimble sounded ridiculously pleased. "Some people might attribute that to the fact you're missing me."

"I've heard it said," Gerard allowed. "The house seems kind of quiet. And big. I miss you like hell."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Kimble gruffly. "Want to hear about my offer? At Johns Hopkins."

"Damn," said Gerard, impressed. "Yeah, I'd say that qualifies as intriguing. Are you interested?"

"Flattered. But moving cities would get too complicated to be tempting."

Gerard discovered his hand was cramping where he was gripping the receiver so hard. "We could uncomplicate things - find a way to sort something out," he said in his most casual tone.

Undeceived, Kimble snorted down the phone. "Uh huh. You don't get rid of me that easily. I've been thinking, maybe I could make a few things for the house - apart from shelves, I mean. Don't panic. I'm not planning anything too complicated. I'm not good enough. Only Dave Levy invited me back to his house. He has a couple of neat chairs out on the porch. I thought I might try to make something like them for us."

Gerard smiled at nothing in particular as they began to fill in all that was most trivial about their day-to-day existence.

***

Despite all their grand plans, Kimble's homecoming was prosaic in the extreme. A message was waiting for him at the airport; a VIP given to making large donations to the hospital was panicking about having a routine procedure for varicose veins. Grimacing, Kimble took pity on his harassed juniors and went in to calm the man down with the assurance he would be overseeing the entire procedure, which promise left him with the ruffled feathers of the surgeon concerned to soothe. But it meant he was still at the hospital when the first victims of a multiple car crash were brought in.

It was two in the morning by the time he arrived home - but he had been humming 'I Just Want to Make Love to You' throughout the drive, his energy levels lifted by the fact all their patients looked like they were going to make it.

Sliding into bed beside Gerard, he tucked an arm and leg over him and hugged him tight, just before he stuck his stiffened tongue in his lover's ear.

"Hi, honey, I'm home." He could feel the tremors where Sam was laughing silently into the pillows and offered a meaningful thrust of his hips.

"You really are a bullshit artist," said Gerard fondly. "If you can get a hard-on having worked fourteen hours aftter flying back from Seattle I'll - "

" - be happy?"

"Surprised."

"Me, too," Kimble admitted ruefully as he tucked himself even more snugly into the curve of Gerard's buttocks. "Though I slept for most of the flight - out of sheer boredom." One hand cupping his lover's genitals, with his other he massaged the flat belly. His arms tightening around the lean torso, he gave a little wriggle of sheer bliss. "You feel fantastic." He snuffled around Gerard's neck, making him shiver, then gasp when his left nipple was pinched. "You smell pretty good, too. You have the most beautiful dick, you know that?" Already pulling unhurriedly on it, he wriggled again, then paused. "Well, what do you know?" he said smugly. "I guess you must be irresistible. Unless I've just got the hots for you. Of course, it could all be due to those Superman sandwiches. Prepare to be amazed, Gerard."

"Man of steel, huh? Let's see."

Sliding around to cover his lover, Gerard matched their bodies; he took his weight on his elbows so that Richard could breathe and he could kiss him at great length. When a moistened finger rimmed his anus he groaned softly into Kimble's mouth, already moving against him. Then, rolling on to his back, he took Richard with him, his hands splayed over that wonderful ass. Together they found a rhythm that brought them to climax.

"Welcome home," said Gerard, when he judged his lover to be in any state to hear him.

His mouth not quite under control yet, Kimble rumbled some incoherent acknowledgement.

"Even if you are kind of late," added Gerard. "I worked my ass off to be home for you this morning."

"Damn," said Kimble, recovering fast. "You mad at me?"

"Moron," said Gerard lovingly, before he brushed the full mouth with his own. He paused when Richard didn't respond to him. "Do we have a problem here?"

"Of course not."

"You don't sound very convinced."

Kimble was tracing patterns along the curve of the other man's ribcage. "It's dumb."

"Nothing new there then. It's OK. Tell me," coaxed Gerard. "Have you changed your mind about Johns Hopkins?"

Having rolled clear of Gerard, Kimble propped himself up onto one elbow next to him, his Saint Christopher crooked in the hollow of his collarbone. "What? No, of course I haven't." Matter-of-fact, he gestured between them. "You're my home. Besides, I'm happy enough at Chicago Memorial. I won't deny the offer massaged my ego but that's all it was. I'm doing useful work here. The only thing which could make me think of moving away would be because the name Kimble doesn't mean anything outside Chicago. Now that is tempting. You know the best thing about the convention? I was just Doctor Richard Kimble. No history. No notoriety. The only thing I drew attention for was the quality of my work. I can't tell you how good that felt."

"It must have." Gerard cupped the ball of Richard's shoulder and rubbed it slowly. "You sure about turning down that offer? We could work something out. I could get a transfer."

Kimble gave him a level look of some severity. "I meant what I said. You're all that matters to me."

"Alongside baseball, basketball, football, ice hockey - OK, I'm convinced," Gerard said, responding to the expression in Richard's eyes. "So what is it that's bothering you?"

"It's dumb, I know, only I started wondering while I was away. Worrying, I suppose. I mean, you are - were - straight. Are you sure you're comfortable with being gay?" Kimble blurted out.

Gerard gave him a patient look but forbore to tease when he recognized that Richard was serious. "Comfortable? Now there's an interesting choice of word. Loving you is one hell of a lot more fun than that. I've no doubts, I promise you. And for the record, while it's obvious I'm not straight, you're the only guy who's ever pushed my buttons."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Kimble, because he couldn't help himself.

"I put it to the test," Gerard replied simply.

Kimble reared up over him in a possessive, knee-jerk reaction. "When?"

Gerard tugged gently at the hair curling between his lover's nipples. "Trust me, Richard. You didn't just have my cherry, you had the whole fruit salad. From the first kiss onwards. OK?" he added, when the other man continued to stare at him.

Visibly relaxing, Kimble belatedly tried to cover the fact he'd been so wildly uncool as to be jealous. "Who was worried? It would have been all right."

Undeceived, Gerard nodded; he even managed to keep his face straight. "Of course it would."

Very much on his dignity, Kimble leant up over him again. "I am _not_ possessive." He enunciated every syllable with the utmost care.

Large hands stroked his flanks, belly and ribcage, gentling him as if he was some troublesome horse. "That's a pity, because I am. And I kind of like when you are." Gerard blinked as the Saint Christopher he had given the other man hit him on the nose when Kimble grabbed his arms and held them over his head.

"What, now?" he said as Kimble straddled him.

The other man's voice was a silken murmur in his ear. "I've just remembered. Now I'm home again, can I have the next instalment of my Superman comic?"

 

Reassuringly, the following morning Kimble showed no signs of the abundance of energy he had displayed the night before. Coming up behind Gerard, who was busy at the stove, he slid his arms around those narrow flanks and rested his forehead against the other man's neck. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why aren't you rushing off to work?"

Gerard turned his head slightly. "Well, gee, having worked over one hundred and ten hours this week Cosmo said it would be all right if I had a day off."

"You look good on it, Sam. Real good." Kimble gave him a hug fierce enough to make him grunt.

"Jeez, Richard." He patted the fingers linked over his belly. "I can't fix breakfast like this."

"No." His body plastered against the lean frame, his mouth against the side of Gerard's throat, Kimble made no attempt to move.

"You want to make out?" enquired Gerard.

Kimble's snort of amusement ruffled the dark hair. "No."

"That's a first."

"Not yet anyway."

"Then would you please stop stroking my dick."

"If I must," Kimble sighed.

"Damn-it-all-to-hell," muttered Gerard, making one word of it. "All right. Stroke any damn thing you like. You will anyway." Relaxing fully, one hand went behind him to caress a hollowed flank. He had yet to take for granted having a lover who was physically larger and as strong as he was. Encircled by Richard, who was now busy nuzzling his earlobe, left him feeling wrapped in love.

"You smell so good," mumbled Kimble dreamily.

"That's breakfast. Richard, I swear if you start tickling me - "

"Boy, you're grouchy this morning."

"No, you're just mellowed out." Gerard flicked off the stove. "I forgot. There's a welcome home present for you out in the yard."

" _Another_ present? What? A plaque saying 'Here, under this tree, Samuel Gerard did fuck Richard Kimble in this year of our Lord - '"

"Hell, no. We'd end up with a yard full of plaques."

Kimble glanced through the window into the heavily wooded grounds. "Ambitious."

"Realistic."

"You could be right. What am I saying? You're Sam Gerard, of course you're right. OK, so what is this present?" Kimble's eyes widened in delight. "Is it a ring this time?"

"Two as it happens. But not inscribed yet. I thought I'd let you pick out the line of verse you liked best. I've set a few aside for you to look at." Gerard swung around in time to see the consternation on Kimble's face before he thought to disguise it.

"Rings?" he said, his voice too bright.

Wide of eye and bland of face, Gerard nodded enthusiastically. "Rings," he confirmed. "I just wish I hadn't needed you to make me think of something so romantic." He added an expectant look to his repertoire.

It was a few seconds before Kimble could think of anything to say. "That'll be - Why would you keep them outside?" he broke off to ask, before he gave his lover a narrow-eyed glare of the darkest suspicion. "A list of quotations? OK, Gerard. Spill the beans."

"'Spill the beans'?" echoed Gerard with disdain. "That's the last time I buy you a Superman comic."

"Well, if I can't get any sense out of you I guess I'll just have to check the yard for myself." Kimble ruined the effect when he caught hold of Gerard's wrist and drew him along with him.

They rounded the side of the house and Kimble blinked in the full glare of the sun. "Do I get a clue?" he asked.

"The clearing at the end of the path," said Gerard, gesturing off to his left.

Kimble loped along it, wheeling around the moment he spotted the two hoops, his face alight with pleasure. "Sam, that's terrific. Just what I wanted."

"It's a couple of hoops, Richard. No big deal. Here." Gerard tossed him a ball from the storage box set to one side and watched the other man shoot a couple of hoops.

"What about you?" asked Kimble, turning to throw the ball back to Gerard, who caught it automatically.

"I don't do basketball." Without seeming to glance to take aim, he shot a hoop from a distance which made Kimble blink.

"That was a fluke," he said with certainty.

Gerard gave him a kind look. "If it makes you happy to think so."

"But you just - I couldn't guarantee to score from that distance and I shoot hoops all the time," said Kimble, aggrieved. His voice was pitched slightly higher than usual.

Gerard patted him on the shoulder. "Then I guess it must just be natural talent on my part," he said modestly.

"In your dreams. You couldn't do that again if you tried."

"Of course I couldn't," soothed Gerard, turning in the direction of the house.

Light and agile and balanced on the balls of his feet, Kimble danced after him. "Sam, you can't go in now."

"Richard, watch me."

He eased in front of Gerard again. "Play with me, Sam," he coaxed in his most velvety tone as he insinuated himself closer.

Gerard's hand obligingly slipped down to explore the front of Kimble's jeans.

Kimble smacked his hand away. "I was talking about hoops. Shoot hoops with me."

Gerard wrinkled his nose with disdain. "Boring," he adjudged.

"I'll make it worth your while," Kimble wheedled, brushing himself against the other man, then drifting away again.

"You'll need to."

Kimble rubbed his thumb over his lower lip just before his tongue flicked across it.

Gerard swallowed. "I guess it couldn't hurt," he conceded, pinning Kimble with an unfathomable gaze when he was least expecting it.

Kimble's cocky grin wavered. "What's this going to cost me?" he asked with suspicion.

Gerard gave a shark-like grin of great charm. "Nothing you haven't paid before."

"That's not necessarily a comfort," Kimble pointed out. "Chicken?"

"Oh, no. I'm not falling for that one."

Kimble gave a philosophical shrug. "It was worth a try. OK, let's hear your conditions."

"One, you only wear a pair of shorts."

"What about trainers?"

"Don't get smart. Bare-chested. With shorts. And a jock-strap."

"Which pair of shorts?" asked Kimble, thinking about the number he had acquired since discovering Sam liked to see him in them.

"Those baggy pale gray ones you wear for workouts." The promptness of Gerard's reply made it obvious he had given the matter some thought.

Kimble frowned in puzzlement. " _Those_. But why?"

"Hey, I'm the one imposing the conditions, Richard. I don't have to explain myself. I kind of like those shorts, OK?" Gerard was proud of his restraint. Those gray shorts were a constant source of pleasure. The soft fabric had worn thin around the groin and down the back seam; when dampened by sweat the folds clung in all the right places. They had the added bonus that the legs were baggy enough for a man to slide his hand up inside them if he was so minded.

"You're weird," Kimble said mildly. Taking a firm hold of the lean flanks, he drew Gerard to him. "But at least you're mine. So, shall we shoot some hoops before breakfast?"

Gerard looked into hazel eyes that were alight with mischief and was lost - if not to the point where he forgot the bargain he had struck. "Sure. Just as soon as you've changed."

He accompanied Richard upstairs, where he quickly donned jockstrap and socks before pulling back on his jeans and trainers. Wearing only his watch and a white jockstrap, Kimble paused to give his lover an indignant look.

"How come you're wearing all those clothes? You're even wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt."

"I'm perverted like that." Propping one shoulder against the wall, Gerard folded his forearms across his chest, crossed his legs at the ankle and enjoyed the floorshow as Kimble readied himself. The mirror provided a wonderful view of that glorious backside as Richard slid into his shorts.

"Your eyes have glazed," Kimble told him tartly. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me to dress all over again."

"I would but if you do that I won't be in any state to shoot hoops," Gerard admitted.

"You sure you are now?" enquired Kimble, his gaze on the other man's groin.

"I will be," said Gerard, taking a couple of deep breaths.

Once out in the yard Kimble tossed the ball from hand to hand. "Ready for a little one on one? Hoops," he added when his lover's face brightened.

"I guess," said Gerard, looking resigned.

Kimble cast a wistful look at the dark blue sweatshirt the other man was wearing. "Won't you be too hot in that top?" To his amazement Sam seemed to take the question at face value.

"You could be right," he allowed. Without further ado he pulled it over his head and tossed it out of the way.

Kimble stared at the lean perfection of the tanned chest and the protuberant curl of the navel just visible over the belt of Sam's jeans as if he had never seen him half-naked before. The small pink nipples were inviting enough to make his mouth water.

"OK?" asked Gerard, for once totally aware of the effect he was having on his lover. If compelled to shoot hoops with a man this devious it was only prudent to fight fire with fire.

"Uh, sure," croaked Kimble.

He soon discovered Gerard had a highly unorthodox method of blocking. While Sam's arm went up in his face in the approved method, he also managed to rub his naked torso against Richard's bare chest. The scrape of a hard-nubbed nipple against him so distracted Kimble that the ball dribbled from his suddenly nerveless grasp.

"Maybe you're out of practice," said Gerard, his voice as rich as the finest coffee as he loped off to retrieve the ball, tossing it back to the other man as they resumed their game.

Kimble's look of suspicion was justified the first time a callused hand slid up under the leg of his shorts to cup his supported and confined cock. "Sam!" All outrage, Kimble glared at him. His brown skin gleaming with sweat, his diaphragm was rising and falling faster than might have been expected in such a fit man.

Rubbing Richard's cock with the palm of his hand, Gerard slid to his knees to tongue the creases along his lover's belly before he began to suck on it.

Glaring down at him, Kimble said through gritted teeth, "You'll do anything to get out of shooting hoops, won't you."

"Pretty much," allowed Gerard, his breath tickling his lover's belly.

Kimble tightened his hold on the ball when Gerard's hand began to move again. "Do you have any shame?"

Gerard spared him a glance. "Don't overplay, Richard," he advised him.

Kimble could maintain his brooding look for only a few seconds more. "You'll get yours."

"There'll be trouble if I don't."

Gerard slid his palms back up Kimble's inner thighs under the shorts; he smiled wolfishly when he felt the quiver which ran through the other man. It was ease itself to draw down the soft, worn, cotton jersey which bagged and clung so deliciously. Kimble's left leg trembled before it firmed as Gerard dealt with his jockstrap. A soft groan escaped him when Gerard sucked his testicles into his mouth until he could hardly see straight.

"S-Sam."

Cupping Kimble's butt in his large hands and massaging the muscled flesh, he took that beautiful cock into his mouth and began a strong sucking motion.

Fingers brushed his hair. "You dare stop."

Gerard didn't dignify that piece of foolishness with a reply. But if his mouth hadn't been full he would have grinned when he heard the ball drop, just before Richard grabbed his shoulders and moaned low in his throat.


	4. RAW SILK

"Richard - "

"You're doing fine. Just hold it steady."

"Richard, are you sure it - ?"

"I make, you break, remember? Of course I'm sure. Pass the coping saw."

"Because before you stick it together - " Gerard trailed off into silence when he received a cold look from the craftsman who had sweated blood to get the dove-tailed joints just so.

Kimble stared at the saw his companion was holding out to him in a hopeful manner. "That's a fret saw. I want the coping saw," he snapped.

Not for the first time, it occurred to Gerard that he was grateful he didn't have to work with Richard.

"The coping saw," prompted Kimble, misunderstanding the look directed at him.

Gerard blankly studied the array of tools in front of him.

When nothing was pressed into his outstretched hand, Kimble looked up, his eyes narrowed with displeasure. "Looks similar to a fret saw but smaller," he snapped out quickly, as if a loss of time might result in a loss of life.

From the fulminating look directed at him that was a distinct possibility but Gerard passed over the requested tool. Continuing to obey the instructions snapped out to him, he patiently waited for his reward as the temperature in the gym rose.

It took another ten minutes for Kimble to realize he was sweating freely. "Is the damn air-conditioning bust again?" he grumbled. Pausing in his labors he flapped his shirt in an attempt to create a cool draught. Fine wood shavings rose up into the air.

Unwilling to tell an outright lie, Gerard murmured an unintelligible reply. He knew Kimble would catch on to the fact he occasionally switched off the air-conditioning on hot days when Richard was engaged in some strenuous activity but so far his lover had failed to do so. He was taking a risk doing it again so soon but this was proving to be an addictive pleasure.

"Damn thing. That's the third time this week," Kimble complained.

Sneezing as he inhaled wood dust, he wondered if working in the gym was such a good idea. Ideally he would have liked a workshop but Sam had been as accommodating as he could have wished about so much that suggesting building a workshop just so he could dabble in carpentry seemed too self-indulgent. It wasn't like it was a full-time occupation, just a hobby. At most he would make the odd piece of furniture or do the occasional repair. Besides, he'd far rather play with Sam than a piece of wood; although carpentry was great for those times when Sam's periods of off-duty didn't coincide with his own.

He had been working out in the gym when he saw the commercial on TV for a local supplier of carpentry equipment and timber. He hadn't worked with wood for over twenty years. Helen had been horrified when he'd suggested making over one of the bedrooms at their apartment into a workshop. Though she'd probably had a point about their neighbours getting riled about the noise. Until he'd started talking about it to Sam he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. It wasn't like it was a burning need or anything - not like the way he _had_ to be a surgeon, or _had_ to be with Sam. It was simply something he was good at and he found it soothing. It was Sam who had prodded him into driving out to the supplier; it had snowballed from there because Sam didn't seem to mind what kind of havoc he caused around the place.

There was something addictive about making small changes to the house. With every shelf he put up or cupboard door he rehung the house felt more truly his. He really loved the place, more than any other home he'd had. The work was going pretty well. Once he'd started, he had found that while his skills were rusty, he still had the knack. All those hours spent watching his father, who had been a carpenter, hadn't been wasted. While Sam had been chasing around after cows and avoiding his parents, he had been learning about joints and resins and clamps. For all his quick temper and impatience with his eager-to-learn son, his father had had incredible patience when it came to cabinet work. He'd been a master at restoration.

So was Kimble. He just happened to restore people.

Kimble paused, aware of Gerard hovering at his side. Sam was obviously bored - why else would he be down here? He waved a vague, dismissive hand in his lover's direction, managing to pat some area of the other man before he began to rub down the top edge of the shaped back-rest.

His services no longer required, Gerard lounged on the battered sofa, linked his fingers over his belly and settled down to enjoy the show.

Act one began when Richard first swiped at his brow as the sweat trickled down from his hairline into his eyes. He put down the saw and reached for a decidedly grubby rag which he probably used to wipe down his tools. Mopping his face with it, and distributing a couple of smears of dirt, he unfastened his shirt and flapped the edges, still trying to stir the air and succeeding only in stirring the hair between his pectorals. Gerard was prepared to admit it wasn't that exciting by most people's standards but it set the scene for Act Two.

Right on cue, Kimble made a soft sound of impatience and pulled off his shirt. Idly mopping his chest with it, he tossed it onto the sofa, for once oblivious of the heavy-lidded appreciation directed his way.

Gerard conceded how much he must love the guy when he discovered he had twitched Richard's shirt closer to him and casually picked it up so he could inhale his lover's scent. It had to be some kind of sickness. There again, it was fresh sweat. Some things were just too good to resist.

His eyes glazing over, he sat watching the play of muscle down the strong back. It had been disconcerting - exciting, too - the first time he had realized he was having sex with someone as strong, if not stronger than he was. It would have been kind of interesting to test their limits. If only Richard wasn't so careful with him most of the time. It wasn't that he was into pain or anything, just that those times when Richard hadn't held back quite so much had been one hell of a turn-on. Maybe because there was no sense of threat, only the exhilaration that came with the freedom of being able to give yourself up totally. And if he and Richard hadn't quite got there yet, they'd come closer than most people could hope for.

Gerard fidgeted where he sat, trying not to salivate as he watched his lover work. Maybe one day he would feel all that strength unleashed on him, he thought wistfully, watching his bare toes flex and relax before he caught himself at it. He straightened where he sat. Just because you lived with a guy and loved him more than you'd ever loved anyone before didn't mean you had to go sharing all your fantasies with them. There were some things a man didn't feel comfortable about admitting to himself, and wanting to be fucked senseless by a Richard who held nothing back was pretty high on that list.

Of course, it was pretty damn hot, too.

Not that he was complaining about how things were. There was no way he would want that all the time, or even that often. But occasionally would have been great. If Richard wasn't comfortable with letting go that was fine by him; it wasn't like he was suffering.

Refocussing, Gerard saw that the honey-toned skin now had a fine sheen of sweat, which did wonderful things for the muscles down the spine. How could a guy Richard's age have such beautiful skin? he mused. The other man loved back rubs almost as much as he enjoyed giving them. And they had plenty of that oil Richard liked. Tonight he would have the best back rub of his life, Gerard promised himself. Sweat trickled down from his temple, although whether from the close atmosphere or the lack of air-conditioning he couldn't have said.

Time for the intermission he decided, when his erection had finally subsided to a degree. Taking a bottle of beer from the cooler box on the floor, he flicked off the bottlecap and wandered over to the other man.

It took a few seconds for Kimble to notice Gerard's offering. He put down the saw and accepted the condensation slick bottle with a murmured thanks, his eyes never leaving his creation. Still oblivious of the attention he was attracting, he straightened to his full height, his head going back as he put the bottle to his lips and drained it in several long, deep swallows. A little beer slipped from his lips to slide over his chin and down the strong, beautiful throat to mix with the sweat that glistened in the hollow at the base.

His lips moving in a silent prayer for self-control, Gerard stifled a groan and took the empty bottle from his lover, telling himself denial was good for the soul. He had taken two steps away from temptation when he decided denial would give him an ulcer. He swung around only to find that Richard was already back at work. Muttering to himself he returned to the couch, his scowl easing when he saw the view Richard was presenting.

Kimble's muscles began to contract and relax as he worked, beads of sweat sliding down his shoulder blades and slipping down the dips and ridges of the long spine to disappear beneath the waistband of the faded Levi's. That had to be the most beautiful back in the world, thought Gerard with incredible bias. Richard would never have the physique of a Schwarzenegger, for which he was fervently grateful, but he was a solidly built guy who kept himself in good - wonderful - shape.

Gerard smiled happily to himself. Mine all mine. Not that he was possessive, of course. Much.

As Kimble bent over, the delicious curve of his buttocks was defined by the faded denim as the material rode up the cleft of his ass. The sight reminded Gerard that he'd claimed that ass last night. Heat flared up inside him, heading straight for his groin.

OK, so he was possessive. Richard wasn't complaining, was he?

Stretched out along the lumpy but comfortable couch, Gerard's head was propped on a cushion as he indulged himself in some serious Kimble-watching.

It was over an hour later when Gerard opened his eyes to find his lover smiling down at him. Still dopey from sleep, he smiled back and waited for Kimble to kiss him.

"I've finished."

Gerard blinked then peered down at himself to find his pants were still fastened.

"I decided to leave the final rub down and varnish till it's in the open air. That's what you were trying to tell me, right?"

Gerard tore his attention from thoughts of being ravished in his sleep to Richard's project. He peered around his lover at the wooden bench that had taken up so much of the other man's spare time. As he had suspected, it had been perfectly assembled. It looked as if nothing short of dynamite would break those joints.

Kimble walked over to it, his hand trailing along the carved backrest. He looked like a kid who had got an A+ for his homework and was waiting for praise from his parents. "You going to help me carry it out?"

"Richard - " Gerard began, angry with himself for not making his lover listen. He was in the Marshals Service, he was a man who was trained to command, not some spineless pushover who could be steamrollered, even by a surgeon who was used to getting his own way. That Richard's high-handedness had annoyed the hell out of him was no excuse.

"If you take that end we can - " Kimble burbled happily, so proud of himself he looked ready to bust. He glanced over at the stairway that led up from the gym into the kitchen. Realization sank in.

"It won't fit, will it," he recognized sadly, but he gave Sam a wide-eyed beseeching look all the same, trusting his lover to produce a miracle and find a solution. Gerard's air of competence made it a reasonable expectation.

Pierced by the trust in those hazel eyes, Gerard's heart turned over. "Maybe it can be made to fit," he said, a determined look settling on his face. He might not be able to give the man he loved the moon and stars, but the least he could do was get that damn bench upstairs. He would have done anything to make it all right, from widening the staircase to smashing down the ceiling and hiring a crane. His head came up when he heard the snort Kimble gave.

Waving one hand in an inarticulate gesture, Kimble gave Gerard a helpless look. Odd noises began to escape before he surrendered to the laughter which had been building in him. He laughed for so long and so hard that pretty soon he was doubled over, tears seeping from under his scrunched eyelids. He tried to speak but had to abandon the attempt. In need of support he sank limply onto the wooden masterpiece that was destined for the scrapyard, sobbing sounds escaping him.

It was then Gerard registered what had been bothering him. "The bench doesn't have any legs," he muttered to himself, in a relieved tone. At least it hadn't been perfect.

Having just started to run down, Kimble choked before he was trapped in another helpless fit of laughter.

If Gerard hadn't already been in love with Richard it would have happened in these few seconds as he stared at the man who had laughed so hard at himself that he had made his eyes and nose run. Sighing, Gerard took another bottle of beer from the cooler. As a gesture of solidarity he sat beside Kimble on the seat the other man had made. By this time Richard's face was shiny with sweat and mucus. Pulling his tee shirt over his head, Gerard used it to wipe Kimble's scarlet face dry before commanding him to 'blow'. He dropped the tee shirt to the floor when the other man had finished with it. Then he handed over the bottle of beer, which at first Kimble held to his heated face in an effort to cool it. He had quietened except for the occasional catch to his breathing. Drinking deeply, Kimble offered the bottle to Gerard, who drained it before setting it down.

"We could dismantle the bench," Gerard suggested. He gave the joint between arm and seat a discreet tug, as if hoping it might fall apart; it remained depressingly intact.

"Why bother? I'll just make another one," Kimble said easily.

Gerard's expression brightened. "There is that. I'll help. Don't forget the legs this time," he added, with the authority of a man who knew what a coping saw was.

Affection in his eyes, Kimble gave his lop-sided smile. "It's not supposed to have legs. It's a porch swing, Sam."

Gerard blinked. "Like those ones in Doris Day movies?"

Kimble's smile became a grin as he pushed himself to his feet with a hand on Gerard's knee. He walked towards the stairs, saying over his shoulder, "That's right. You object?"

"A porch swing," Gerard grumbled, trailing after the other man as he entered the kitchen. "Well I guess Cosmo's kids can play on it or something. I swear this place will wind up looking like Walton's Mountain. Jeez, a porch swing - "

"You don't have to use it, " Kimble soothed, his expression hard to decipher.

"You couldn't pay me to - " Gerard's eyes glazed over for a second. "You could always think of something to persuade me," he amended, his smile downright wicked.

Kimble came in close, until his groin and chest were touching Gerard, his breath warm and sweet against the other man's face. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Gerard murmured, his voice close to a growl. He licked with a slow deliberation along the scar on Kimble's chin, his gaze locked on the other man's eyes.

Kimble's smile deepened. "I won't resort to bribery," he promised, at his most sultry. Swinging away, he was whistling as he left the room. He was proud of the fact he got his erection under control in three minutes, even if it felt like a very long three minutes.

Left in the kitchen, Gerard adjusted himself in his pants, muttering to himself. He was a mature man, he could tolerate being spurned in favor of a piece of wood. He could have Richard all to himself later. Besides, if he put his mind to it he could distract Richard any time he chose. Cheered by this thought, he wandered off to switch the air-conditioning back on before they both melted.

***

 

Awaiting delivery of a new supply of wood for the second bench, Kimble spent the next evening working on a paper. Or trying to. His already poor concentration wasn't helped by the fact Gerard was bored. Kimble could see this as clearly as he could sense the man every time Gerard past him on yet another circuit of the room, energy virtually crackling from him.

Kimble sighed. These moods didn't occur often because Sam was intelligent enough to find something to occupy his mind but today he was making up for lost time. Long denim-clad legs eating up the yards, he prowled around the spacious study which had once been Kimble's bedroom, making it seem stiflingly small.

Restless and apparently unable to settle to anything, Gerard came to stand behind Kimble, the faintest drift of cologne and male animal further distracting the doctor.

Kimble looked up from his monitor to give his notoriously quick-witted companion a look of exasperation. He had been trying to finish this section for the past hour. Normally Gerard would leave him to get on with his work, but boredom seemed to blunt the man's famed intuitive instincts.

"Don't you have some work of your own to finish off?" Kimble enquired.

"No. Will you be done soon?" Gerard peered over Kimble's shoulder at the words on the screen, lips moving as he read one particular word which ran to ten syllables. He made an impatient noise in his throat and without waiting for Kimble's reply swung away, only to turn back seconds later.

Kimble glared when Gerard began to play with the paperweight on his desk, rolling the smooth blue crystal between his big hands until it was all Kimble could do not to snatch it from him. He loved Sam dearly but he wasn't used to this particular version of him.

"Are you nearly finished?" Gerard asked, one foot swinging in a most irritating fashion.

"No. For some reason I'm feeling distracted. I can't think why," Kimble said, beyond subtlety.

Gerard gave a vague nod and completed another circuit of the room before perching on the edge of his lover's desk.

Christ, now he was playing with the paper clips. Kimble resisted the urge to smack his hand away and deleted the line of gibberish he had just typed.

"Sam, go climb a rock!" he snapped. That this was a reversal of the usual state of affairs did not occur to him.

Gerard gave him a surprised look. "Am I bothering you?"

The moment for tact had long gone. "Yes," Kimble grated through gritted teeth.

Gerard briefly looked offended before something in Kimble's expression made his frown disappear and he gave a smile of great sweetness. "Next time don't be so subtle." He flicked a finger across the tip of Kimble's nose. "I'll go workout in the gym. Let me know when you've finished."

The room was far too silent after the other man had left. Kimble tried to return his attention to his ground-breaking paper but suddenly it didn't seem quite so important. With all this excess energy to spare the odds were that Sam would have a workout on the punch bag and more than almost anything else he loved to watch all that leashed aggression and power being channelled with such control. Not to mention watching the muscles work in Sam's back and the way his shorts clung to his ass as he heated up.

The choice between work and Sam's ass wasn't a difficult one to make.

He was about to head down to the gym when he heard the sound of a growly voice singing 'Werewolves of London' from their bedroom. Kimble made a fast detour, through the bathroom into their bedroom, where he came to an abrupt stop.

"Oh-my-god," he whispered, making one word of it as he rubbed the crimson silk of the new sheets that had replaced prosaic white cotton between his finger and thumb.

Watching his lover let the silk flow over his hand, Gerard gave a self-congratulatory smile. He had known Richard was too much of a sensualist to be able to resist silk sheets.

After a moment more Kimble belatedly turned his attention to his companion, his eyes widening when he saw Gerard was naked except for a pair of black silk shorts, the fabric lovingly draping itself over every beautiful inch of him. He gave an audible swallow.

"Was this why you were so keen for me to finish the paper?" he asked when he trusted his voice. He was already undressing, clothing dropping around him in unregarded heaps.

Yet to tire of the sight of Richard undressing, even such a gratifyingly hasty strip, Gerard watched with hooded eyes. The question impinged after a few seconds and he coughed, looking self-conscious. "Let's just say this is my way of saying I'm sorry for what happened with the bench. I should have tried harder to get you to listen to sense. Next time I'll wrestle you to the ground and bang your head against the floor."

"That would work," Kimble conceded. "I like the wrestling part. You think we could skip the head banging?"

"I'll consider it."

Kimble caressed the silk, clearly enjoying the sensation against his palm. "You should have said you had this set up. The paper could have waited."

Gerard shrugged. "That wouldn't have been fair."

"And trying to distract me and annoying the hell out of me is?"

"It works for you. Standard procedure in fact."

Opening his mouth as if to deny the accusation, Kimble paused and visibly thought the better of what he had been about to say. Meeting Sam's quizzical look he gave a wry grin of defeat and rubbed the scar on his chin. "If you say so." Stepping over his abandoned clothes, he prodded the uncovered pillows at the head of the bed. "I like a nice firm pillow. Did you get matching slips for these?"

Gerard gave an untroubled shrug. "I forgot."

Settling himself on the bed, he stretched with a slow deliberation which ensured he gained Richard's full attention even before he slid his soles across the silk beneath him. He gave a sensual little wriggle against the sheets, watching Richard's arousal become apparent with a satisfying and highly flattering speed. His gaze wandered over the strong trim body, the familiar fluttering in his belly intensifying as he took in the wonderful lines of the wide shoulders, flat belly and well-shaped legs, lingering on the strong thighs and beautiful cock.

"Fetch some white cotton slips," he ordered lazily, licking suddenly dry lips.

"Me? This is your show, you finish what you started. I'm going to take a shower."

"Get the damn pillow slips, Richard," Gerard growled, a mock glare on his face as he pushed himself up into a sitting position in one fluid movement.

Kimble smiled sweetly and flipped him the bird.

Gerard's answer was a well-aimed pillow to the back of the other man's head.

Turning around slowly, there was a gleam in Kimble's eyes as he picked up the pillow at his feet. He marched to the bed, holding his make-shift weapon aloft and attacked, taking several blows as Gerard fought back with another pillow.

There was a tearing sound and abruptly the air was filled with feathers.

Gerard stared at his suddenly limp pillow, spat out a feather, then glared at the other man through the haze. "Shit, look what you did!"

"What I did!"

"You'll have to repair them." Seeing Kimble's speechless outrage, he pointed out, "You're the surgeon."

"You think I went to medical school and became the best damn cardio-vascular surgeon in the country to repair pillows?"

"Are you?" Gerard asked, side-tracked.

Kimble gave his lover a pitying look. "You'll just have to buy some more pillows."

"And why is that?"

You're the one who'll be needing them to raise his ass."

Gerard became very still as the image that statement evoked swam across his mind. The impulse to use the remaining pillows to do just that was very strong but he couldn't have Richard thinking he could have everything his own way.

"Is that right?" murmured Gerard in a silky voice, just before he swooped forward, catching Kimble behind the knees and knocking him onto the mattress. Gerard gave a triumphant grin. Preparing to go in for the kill, his knees slipped on the silk sheet beneath him and when he put out a hand to steady himself, it slid sideways. Without a sound he slipped head first off the bed and into the gap between the bed and the nightstand.

"Sam!" Kimble peered down at Gerard, relieved when the other man began to swear softly and fluently. "You OK?"

"Do I look OK?" retorted a muffled voice.

Kimble gave a relieved grin. Still kneeling on the mattress, he sank back on his heels as some advantages to this mishap became increasingly apparent. "You look great," he said huskily, palming the silk-covered ass. It tensed and he gave a decidedly wolfish grin. "I'm finally getting to see your best side." These silk shorts were looser in the leg than the close-fitting ones Sam usually wore, the fabric slipping back to offer tantalizing glimpses of Sam's butt.

"Very funny, Richard," growled Gerard. He tried to shift his arms to provide leverage, his legs flailing, which made his rear sway in a most beguiling way. His efforts were interrupted by a sneeze which made his eyes water when he banged his nose on the floor.

Big Dog admitted defeat, though not gracefully. "If you value your life you'll give me a hand."

"Wow. You're really stuck?"

Gerard muttered to himself in Spanish, then paused to take a patient breath. The effect was spoiled by another sneeze of considerable force. When he spoke it was in the tones of one addressing an idiot. "Yes, I am really stuck. So haul ass, Richard."

"I'd rather haul yours," Kimble confided.

Gerard tensed when a hand slipped under the waistband of his shorts; there was a tugging sensation, and a sense of cool air as silk tickled his thighs, calves and ankles as his shorts were removed. Those sensations were followed by warm, rhythmic gusts of air, presumably Richard's breath as he panted over the sight of his ass. While this was understandable, it was hardly the time or place. About to point this out, Gerard flinched when Richard began to trace circles on both cheeks. It was an interesting experience, given his current helpless position, and not unpleasant except for the crick in his neck and the dust bunnies tickling his nose. He was close to enjoying the experience when there was the shock of teeth closing over his butt.

"Ow! Damn it!" Outraged, Gerard tried to shift away and gave a grunt of discomfort as his neck protested.

Kimble's voice was indistinct as he muttered something that sounded like an apology. He rubbed at the bite mark Gerard could feel decorating his left buttock.

Time to play dirty unless he wanted his ass covered in Richard's toothmarks. Not that he had ever objected on other occasions, but a man had his pride. "There's something wet on my - Ah, shit, I hope I'm not bleeding onto the sheet." His voice was muffled and less forceful than before.

Gerard had barely finished speaking before a horrified Kimble shoved the nightstand back and eased him to the bed. A gentle hand tilted his face around, Kimble's worried expression changing when he saw that the only thing Sam's face wore was a devilish smile.

"Pitiful," mocked Gerard, before he lunged at the unprepared doctor. "My best side, huh?"

"You bet. Wish I'd bought that Polaroid," grunted Kimble, thigh muscles bunching as he threw Gerard off.

They wrestled on the bed with no thought for care, eventually landing up on the floor with a thud, although Kimble's yelp was loudest because he'd softened Gerard's fall. Tangled sheets impeded their struggles for a few seconds before they were free of the slippery silk. Neither man held back, each determined to best the other in this most primitive of battles. More used to verbal and cerebral tussles, there was something intensely exhilarating about using simple brute strength to master the other man.

Gerard managed to straddle his squirming lover, who bucked beneath him. "If you want it, you'll have to work for it, Richard. I won't let you win this time."

Kimble tensed as he prepared for a counter-attack. "Let me win! Why you arrogant son-of-a- "

Gerard felt the surge of power building up in the captive man and his heart began to race. Exhilarated, he readied himself, his grip tightening on Kimble's wrists as he prepared to ride out the wave, this something he had wanted for a long time. Then Richard suddenly relaxed, completely boneless beneath him. Gerard grinned and waited for Kimble to think he'd drop his guard but Richard remained lax and unresisting. Gerard swallowed his disappointment, reluctant to examine why he had wanted Kimble to try to - well, top him, he guessed. It wasn't the first time they'd come close - and unless his imagination was playing tricks, Richard was always the one to back down.

This was one hell of a time for an internal debate, Gerard conceded ruefully, slowly relaxing where he straddled the other man. Seconds later Kimble surged up, pinning him on his back. His mouth softening, Gerard put up only a token resistance for the look of it and so had no protection when Richard swooped down and proceeded to suck his highly sensitive navel.

Gerard squeaked - no other word could have described the helpless high-pitched sound that escaped him. Within seconds he was a gibbering wreck and totally at the dubious mercy of the other man.

It was only later, a lot later, as he lay with an arm around his sleeping lover on the remade bed, that Gerard was in any state to appreciate the irony of what had occurred. He'd been mastered - if not quite in the manner he had hoped for.

It took longer than he had anticipated to fall asleep.

 

Gerard's eyes shot open to find the bedroom in darkness and whatever had broken his sleep slipping past his consciousness. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and groaned his disgust: 3 a.m.

Terrific.

He had a full day ahead of him and energy levels to replenish after that enjoyable tussle with Richard and the torture which had followed it. Shifting position slightly, he was glad they had changed the sheets back to prosaic cotton. He could have broken his neck, not to mention damaged his dick. Trying to relax, he could feel himself tensing as sleep refused to come. Conceding that he was likely to be awake for a while, he stretched, relaxed and reminded himself that there were worse fates than lying in bed with the man you loved.

He hadn't done the early morning blues thing for a while now. Since he and Richard had crawled into the mess of their bed at one a.m., reflecting on life, the universe and everything was the last thing he needed to do. Anyway it was a pointless exercise - his universe was lying right next to him. Life was something you enjoyed with the ones you loved; everything else just happened and you got on with it. There, he had that figured out. So was something bothering him?

He knew from past experience that there was no point fighting it so he might as well get comfortable. He shifted up a little, and the head of the man sleeping beside him slipped from his shoulder. He pulled Richard a little closer, perhaps hoping to ward off the demons that were around at this time of night, and began to examine his life until he hit jackpot and figured out what was plaguing his subconscious.

Work? Well things were going real well right now. For a change Howard wasn't trying to interfere. His people were happy and energized and handling their caseloads with ease and the kids were fine. To everyone's relief Noah had stopped moping round the place. In fact, to judge from the spring in his step, glow in his eyes and extra curl in his hair, that young man was getting his - and outside the department, which made things a whole lot easier; his job description didn't include playing agony aunt for lovelorn deputies.

As always Cosmo was Cosmo. His biggest problem seemed to be getting hold of this year's most popular toy for Louise's birthday. He'd keep an eye on that situation. There was no point playing poker with the owner of the best kids' store in Chicago if you couldn't beg a favor for a friend. Besides, he was sick to death of hearing Cosmo talk about it. Though it made a change from shoes. He'd never known a guy with so many pairs.

Henry had made an excellent recovery from the shooting. He had a positive glow to him now that Vonetta had passed the thirtieth week of her pregnancy and looked all set to go the full term. He was openly talking about her pregnancy around the department and spending a small fortune on baby clothes. Though why Henry should assume he'd know anything about the subject - Still, it didn't hurt to listen. No one had ever died of boredom yet.

Poole had looked about ready to purr after a week away on some island with her husband, Roger. As usual she said little but looked plenty.

Biggs had shaved off his moustache but was a lot happier now that he'd let it grow back, as was Wesley, as Robert insisted on telling everyone at length - but mercifully without graphic description. Though he could better understand the impulse to talk about your lover now. Not that he did, of course. At least he hoped he didn't. And not with that sappy look on his face that -

Gerard decided not to pursue that line of thought.

Hours? No problems there. He was working overtime a lot less and hadn't had to leave Chicago - and more importantly Richard - for a while. He even had sixteen days vacation he'd forgotten about. He'd talk to Richard, see if they could go some place.

So the problem wasn't work.

Finances? What the hell was he thinking of? He could retire tomorrow. As could Richard. Next subject.

Private life. Love life. Richard. Now there was a topic he could devote a whole lot of time to. Richard Kimble, the man that could make him feel so good, yet who held the power to break his heart; who could make that same heart race with just a smile and a promise in his eyes; who made him feel so loved it was like having a piece of heaven on earth. Richard Kimble with his devil's smile and that soulful look that could melt rock at twenty paces.

OK, so he was getting wussy. Being realistic - say ten paces, in a good light. If Richard was wearing shorts. Those gray ones that were getting transparent down the seams.

Thinking of Richard always gave him a warm inner glow and made him feel like he was grinning like a fool, even when he wasn't. Though it had to be admitted that he usually was. You didn't often get a good soul wrapped in such an attractive package. Richard's ass could make him ache just thinking about it, while Richard's chest made his hands twitch with longing to touch it. Indulging himself, Gerard stroked the sleeping man's nipples and slid his fingers through the soft hair, simply because he could. Fact was, Richard was seriously sexy. And Richard was his.

He also happened to be the most kind, loving, generous person Gerard had ever known. It didn't hurt that he gave terrific head. And fucked like a - like something that - well - like Richard.

Shit, he must be tired. He'd be making up words just like Robert next.

OK, so if none of those things were the reason for him waking up at 3 a.m. what the hell was? Since work and Richard accounted for most of his life there was very little left.

Gerard yawned. Well that was a good sign. The hell with thinking, he had work in the morning, and if he knew his Richard they'd be fooling around at least an hour before breakfast. Though at least he'd trained Richard to check he was awake first.

He eased back under the covers, rubbing his cheek across the head tucked against his neck. He felt a slight dampness there and smiled to himself - Richard was drooling again.

He was drifting off to sleep when he heard it, the sound that had woken him in the first place. Enchanted, he tried to crane his head to gaze at Richard without disturbing him. This proving to be impossible, he simply lay back and hugged the sleeping man closer. A huge smile blossoming across his face, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound.

The sound of Richard Kimble laughing softly in his sleep.

Feeling ten feet tall, Gerard lay smiling into the darkness, knowing he could take full credit. He was still smiling when Kimble kissed him awake the next morning.

***

The wood Kimble had ordered for the new bench arrived the following day, much to Gerard's disgust because he'd made plans for that evening. He glared at the wood as if it was a rival he could out-psych. To make matters worse he wound up helping Kimble shift the damn stuff down to the gym, which was rapidly turning into a lumber yard. It was time to take matters in hand. Seeing the eager gleam in his lover's eyes he wisely beat a hasty retreat before Richard roped him into helping - in other words using him as his gopher.

Gerard prepared, cooked and ate dinner. After half an hour of waiting for Richard to surface after being called - three times - he also ate Richard's dinner, on the grounds that waves of guilt would sweep downstairs and alert his lover. But Kimble was obviously more in tune with deceased, dismembered trees at the moment.

His timing impeccable, Kimble appeared as Gerard was loading the dishwasher.

"God, I think I've done something to my back," he groaned, easing into a chair and looking pathetic.

Gerard ignored his cue to give sympathy and a backrub but fixed a sandwich and passed it to Kimble, who stared at it as if it contained tentacles and signs of life.

"I thought you were cooking chili."

"I did. It was delicious."

"You didn't save any for me?" Wide-eyed and wounded, Kimble gave him a look of disbelief but Gerard's heart was made of stone.

"Sure. It tasted even better than mine - stolen food always has that added something. I've got some work to finish up. Eat up, you'll be needing your energy - "

Kimble brightened and a grin began to blossom.

" - for hauling all that wood. See you later."

Kimble stared after his lover as Gerard strolled out of the room, then looked at his sandwich. His lip curled but he picked it up anyway. He grew a lot more enthusiastic after the first bite. Pissed at him Sam might be but he had still put together his favorite kind of sandwich.

 

He wasn't totally amazed when Gerard turned up in the gym twenty minutes later to help with the wood; that he stayed was a bonus Kimble exploited without mercy.

***

 

It took two weeks for Kimble's masterpiece to be completed, two weeks of hearing him gripe and boast and talk wood. While it was not Gerard's favorite topic, he got a real kick out of seeing Richard enjoying himself, even if spending so much time down in the gym wore thin. He'd be real glad when he could finalize the details for an alternative arrangement.

"OK. This is the moment of truth," said Kimble, standing back to admire his work one more time. "We'll leave the backrest here for now. You want to help me carry the seat up onto the porch?"

As there would have been no point in teasing his companion right now, Gerard simply took hold of one end of the porch swing and they shuffled towards the stairs.

"If you lift your end a little higher - " Kimble said in what he clearly thought was a patient tone.

Gerard heard the dictatorial voice of the perfectionist eminent surgeon and gritted his teeth. "My end is fine, Richard. Let's just get this upstairs."

Kimble smiled to himself. Sam had been indulging him plenty lately - in fact he'd been downright heroic, something he wouldn't be telling him of course. The last thing Sam needed was having his ego inflated. Though maybe a little stroking was in order.

There was a thud, a sickening crunch as wood hit an unyielding surface and a sharply indrawn breath from Gerard.

"Sam? You OK?" Kimble's voice was edged with anxiety as he set down the swing seat and tried to see beyond it.

There was the sound of muttered cursing in Spanish. Not a good sign. Then silence.

"Sam? Are - ?"

"I'm fine. But the wall isn't." There was a pause then an apologetic, "Neither is the swing. Richard, I'm sorry. "

Kimble exhaled. "Thank god for that," he said in heartfelt tones. "I thought it was something important."

A dark head peered around the side of the seat, Gerard all rumpled hair and wide eyes. "You're OK with this?"

Kimble gave a sigh of exaggerated patience. "Get real. Besides, the accident was more my fault than yours. I was kind of forceful."

A mutter of "What's new?" drifted over to him.

Kimble elected not to hear it.

"So let's get this bench back on the road. I'll see to the wall later," Gerard added with casual authority.

Kimble swallowed his hoot of derision just in time. Your lover might be all thumbs when it came to DIY but that was no reason to rub it in. Though he had to admit, it had been oddly comforting to find Sam's sometimes daunting competence had well-defined limits. Without thinking what he was doing he took the last few steps at a faster pace, catching Gerard off-guard. There was another thud and a stream of invective, this time in English, as the corner of the swing met the corner of the wall at the top of the stairs, knocking out a sizeable chunk of plaster.

Gerard's head reappeared around the side of the swing.

"I'm fine," Kimble reassured him.

Gerard peered around the wall side of the swing but he pointedly didn't say anything, simply picking up his end of the seat again.

 

They were still talking by the time the swing was fixed on the porch but it had been a near thing: two born chiefs and not an Indian in sight. Fortunately they had both recognized the warning signals in time. Gerard had taken a deep breath and asked for instructions, while Kimble had the sense not to give them.

Before they could test out the seat the storm which had been threatening all day arrived, the rain driving them indoors, their clothing already plastered to them. Gerard was stepping into the shower, one hand around his lover's wrist when he was called out after a prison bus had crashed, leaving fifteen prisoners on the loose.

"Damn," he said without heat, dressing in dry clothes with speed while Kimble located clean socks for him. "Have you got any cash?"

"Terrific," sighed Kimble as he emptied his wallet of notes and his pockets of change. "First he abandons me, then he takes all my money. I expect payment in kind."

"I'm all for expectation," Gerard told him. While he was heading for the door at top speed he didn't escape the slap on the ass.

***

 

Arriving home early after a day of petty frustrations, Kimble's mood brightened when he saw the Ferrari parked outside the house. It was highly gratifying that Sam seemed to have got to grips with the notion of delegating. All he'd needed was the right inducement, he thought smugly.

The hall felt deliciously cool, the scents and sense of homecoming enfolding him. Tossing his car keys next to Sam's in the bowl on the table, Kimble heeled off his shoes, pulled off his socks and tossed his suit jacket and tie over the newel post before he headed off in the direction the music was coming from, unfastening his shirt as he went. Sam was probably working out in the gym - with any luck on the punch bag.

Halfway down the stairs which led to the cellar Kimble paused mid-step, his breath catching. Howlin' Wolf was singing 'Shake it for Me' and by god Sam was. Wearing nothing but brown skin and a pair of threadbare cut-offs he was doing something to that wall which would never be allowed in public. His butt moving rhythmically, he was running his hand over the wall as if it was his lover, muscles sliding down his back; the soft fabric of the aged denim was caught in the cleft of his ass and Kimble was already achingly erect. His eyes glazing over, he licked suddenly dry lips and padded down the last few steps.

By the time he stepped behind Gerard he was naked.

 

Singing along to 'Shake it for Me', Gerard eased his index finger along one of the thread-like cracks which spread out from the point where the arm of the seat had caught the wall. Who would have thought plastering could be such a sensual experience, he thought vaguely, the smooth mixture gliding under his finger.

The next track made him pause for a moment before he resumed work, "Howlin' for my Darlin'' having sent his thoughts off in a predictable direction. Richard wasn't that vocal when he made love, seeming to prefer to give all his attention to the task at hand, but he'd made Richard moan often enough. It might be interesting to see if Richard was a howler - under the right circumstances.

Moving easily to the music, the direction of his thoughts leaving him more than half hard, Gerard had no idea he wasn't alone until arms snaked around him as a tongue thrust into his ear, the weight of a naked body pressing him into the wall. "Shi-it, Richard," he protested, his cheek against the newly plastered wall. But his dick was protected by the hand cupping it, Kimble's other hand busy with the fastener of his shorts.

The throaty noise Kimble made was closer to a growl than a howl but by then Gerard's brain cells were all travelling south at high speed.

 

His head pillowed on Gerard's bare thigh, Kimble's bare feet kept the beat as Muddy Waters began to sing 'I'm a Man'. His hand covered Gerard's where it rested on his chest, the fingertips just stirring through the hair there.

"If we didn't listen to the Blues we probably wouldn't have so much sex," he mused.

"Yeah?" Skepticism echoed in Gerard's voice.

Kimble rolled onto his stomach to face the other man. "It was just a theory," he said, on the defensive.

Gerard studied him for an unnerving few seconds. "You want to put it to the test?"

Having learnt to be wary when Gerard wore that angelic look, Kimble gave a cautious nod.

"OK. No playing the Blues for a month. We'll see what happens to our sex life."

Kimble stared at him, appalled. "Are you serious?"

"Not in this lifetime," Gerard assured him. He gave a lazy stretch, flakes of dried plaster dropping from his hands. "I should get back to working on that wall. Not that I'm complaining, but you mind telling me what brought that on?"

"You looked - " The rest of the explanation was a rumble of incoherency which Gerard had the tact not to pursue. "The plastering looks terrific," Kimble continued, composure recovered.

"No need to sound so surprised."

"When did you learn to do it?" Kimble pursued.

"When I read the instructions on the packet this afternoon. Enough with the big eyes, it's not brain surgery," Gerard said, mildly exasperated for the credit he was being given for performing such a mundane task.

"Maybe not but watching you plaster that crack was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen," said Kimble, his voice rich and deep and a look in his eyes that concentrated his lover's thoughts wonderfully.

"Already?" said Gerard, unwilling impressed.

"I wish," replied Kimble with a lop-sided grin. "Though who knows what might happen while I watch you finish plastering that wall."

"What happens is that you start painting the other wall. That's quick-drying plaster," Gerard pointed out.

After five minutes he relieved his lover of the roller and handed him a brush, wiping a smear of paint from Kimble's nose as he did so.

"There must be a knack to it," said Kimble, avoiding looking at the paint spatters marking the floor and yet to notice how many he carried about his person.

"Seems like," agreed Gerard, careful not to smile at the picture his naked lover presented.

While Sam hadn't said a word his back looked so smug as he resumed work that Kimble painted over his own hand in pure irritation. It was then he vowed to use decorators if they needed any more painting done.

***

 

Lounging on the porch swing, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arm around Kimble, Gerard gave a comfortable little flex of his hips.

"This takes me back. You remember taking your girl out onto the porch - knowing damn well her parents were watching and that her daddy had a shotgun close by?"

Kimble shook his head. "I grew up in Chicago, Sam. In an apartment in the middle of town. The nearest I got to porch swings were Doris Day movies. I always wanted one though." He slipped his hand between the open edges of Gerard's white shirt. "Did you court girls on one in Texas?"

His head turning, Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Of course."

"Wait a minute. I'd forgotten. You were only fourteen when you left Texas."

Gerard patted his companion's shoulder. "Slow starter, were you?" he enquired sympathetically. "At fourteen I was State champ at getting past first base on a porch swing. Right under their pa's nose."

"You obviously liked living dangerously."

"You mean you didn't?" returned Gerard.

Kimble gave a reminiscent grin and fingered the scar on his chin. "I should never have told you about this. Getting the girl and a place you could make out together in private happened once in a blue moon. How do you think I got so addicted to going to the game? It wasn't just for the sport. Or not the obvious kind. It was the only place the fathers would let me take their little girls. What they'd obviously forgotten is that you can be real private in a crowd."

"They must have been crazy. I wouldn't have let you within three feet of any daughter of mine," said Gerard with conviction.

"Really?" Kimble looked inordinately pleased at the idea.

Giving him an absent-minded hug, Gerard paused to think about it. "Maybe I would." He stroked his thumb across the scar on Kimble's chin. "At least you were responsible enough to wear a condom rather than risk knocking the girl up." To his surprise he realized Richard was looking embarrassed by the praise, back-handed as it was. "Though I guess it would be a while before I felt able to feel grateful for that," he continued, before he pulled a face. "This is one weird conversation for us to be having."

"You started it," Kimble pointed out provocatively.

Gerard shook his head at him in a pitying fashion. "Uh uh. I'm not in the mood to scrap. There's no point. I always win."

The nipple Kimble had been caressing with the side of his thumb received a firm pinch, making Gerard's breath stutter even before Kimble bent his head to him, his teeth grazing his other, already sensitized nipple. Gerard gave a helpless groan, his eyes closing as sensation shot to his groin, which was being cupped. His hands were just about to settle over his lover's ass when Kimble settled back on his side of the long seat. But for his obvious arousal he looked almost demure.

"That's it?" said Gerard, a certain tightness to his voice. But he was not going to be the first to crack. Not this time.

"Doris wouldn't approve," said Kimble, his mouth feeling full of tongue. This was dumb. And it was killing him to see Sam sprawled there, looking so damn edible.

"Well in that case."

With mounting disbelief Kimble watched Sam refasten his shirt and straighten where he sat with every appearance of ease.

"You don't mind?" he said incredulously.

"Nope. But then I have self-control," said Gerard. Of course he could also finish up with blue balls but it didn't do to let Richard have his own way all the time. He was too damn smug as it was.

Muttering under his breath, Kimble retreated to the other side of the porch swing and sulkily stared out into the velvety darkness of the yard. Shooting his third glance at Gerard, his expression lightened when he realized the other man was shifting position.

"I've never made out on a porch swing," Kimble mused sadly.

"Life's a bitch and then you die," said Gerard, all sympathy. He batted away the cushion lobbed at him.

"I know what it is," Kimble said moodily, "you've got a secret hankering to wear bobby socks and burst into song with 'Once I Had a Secret Love'."

Gerard snorted. "Look on the positive side. It could have been 'Whip-Crack-A-Way’. These chains had me worried." He gestured to the heavy chains which held up the porch swing, and which had been such a pain to fix.

"Oh yeah, you panicking is quite something," scoffed Kimble but he had eased back into the circle of Gerard's arm without making a production of it - presumably on the grounds Sam wouldn't notice. "This is nice," he said unguardedly.

"It's OK," Gerard allowed, the effect spoiled by the fact he was nuzzling the tip of Richard's ear.

"So which is your favorite Doris Day movie?" asked Kimble with a contented smile.

Gerard gave a weighty sigh. "Did you know she's a gay icon?"

"Never seen it," Kimble assured him. He received a light cuff around the ear which barely stirred his already ruffled hair.

"I'm serious here, Richard. We're sitting on a porch swing in the dark discussing Doris Day movies. We've turned into a gay cliché." Gerard's voice was gloom-laden.

"In that case," Kimble took hold of Gerard's hand, "we may as well sit and watch the stars come out. Then we can neck. Who knows, I might get lucky."

Gerard shot him a speaking look before he shrugged. "I've never made out in a porch swing either," he admitted, sliding down on the seat until he could crane his head back far enough to study the night sky.

"It's cloudy," discovered Kimble. The spectre of celibacy - or backing down at the least - loomed large.

"Just keep checking," instructed Gerard.

"There's one," exclaimed Kimble, one hand already on Gerard's fly.

His hand was nudged away. "That's a plane, Richard."

"Well it'll do me," said Kimble in a goaded tone as he straddled his supine lover. "Are you going to give in gracefully or what?"

As Gerard was already easing down the shorts Kimble was wearing the question seemed redundant.


	5. LIFE-SAVER

Gerard glanced at the television page of his newspaper, then looked at his lover. "Why aren't you at Wrigley Field watching the game?" he enquired.

Swivelling around where he was crouched fixing one of the kitchen doors, Kimble shrugged. "I forgot to renew my season ticket. I can't imagine what - who - I must have been thinking of instead."

"I should have guessed it would be my fault. You mean the game's a sell-out?"

"Hey, that's my team you're insulting. And, yes, it will be. It's a key game."

"Anyway I meant watching on TV. Remember TV? More specifically your new forty-four inch widescreen TV that was such a pain in the butt to get installed," Gerard prompted.

"Oh, that TV. I guess this hinge can wait. Have we got popcorn?"

"And cold beer."

"You'll watch the game with me?"

Gerard took the question in the spirit in which it was meant. "Sure. You get the beer, I'll see to the popcorn."

They were comfortably settled well before the game, in what had become their usual positions when Kimble was watching sport. He sat facing the television with his bare feet outstretched on a glass-topped coffee table, while Gerard sprawled along the rest of the couch. A book propped on his belly Gerard had his head on Kimble's leg. Holding a cold beer, Kimble's other, popcorn-salty hand slid between the buttons of Gerard's shirt, his index finger sifting through the sprinkle of dark hair.

"So how do you see this game going then?"

"Get a reality check," Gerard said kindly. "If you need to talk it over with someone, call Kathy. Or most anyone else we know."

"I could train you to say all the right things," mused Kimble wistfully.

"Buy a parrot," suggested Gerard, smiling.

Kimble gave a nipple a friendly tweak. "Go back to your book. Is it the one I got for you?" He sounded pleased. Gerard grunted an affirmative. "Is it any good?" Gerard half-turned and made a non-committal noise. "That bad, huh?" said Kimble with resignation.

"Maybe it's just me. Only I was kind of hoping for more about Antarctica and less about what film they were playing on the voyage out. But I'm sticking with it. Want me to read you excerpts?"

"Only if you want the life-history of all the players. For instance, did you know that - ?"

"I need popcorn," Gerard interrupted, holding out a cupped hand. They chewed companionably.

"You think the advertising agencies have a competition to come up with the dumbest commercials?" mused Gerard as they listened to a lisping infant win round her irascible grandfather with some candy.

"They must do. This one's even worse. So how was your day, honey?"

"It started off OK and went downhill from there. Does everyone in the world but me understand the color turquoise?" Gerard asked, sounding put-upon.

Kimble gave a knowing grin. "Who's been giving you hell about it, Poole, Jenna or Ginny?"

"Ginny gave up on me years ago. It was Poole. She's been on my case all day while Cosmo sat there grinning like a fool. And a smug fool at that. But the perp's shirt was blue, what can I say?"

"Preferably nothing, the game's about to start. Besides, it takes years of training before you'll get the hang of turquoise. I," Kimble added smugly, "can tell the difference between maroon and cerise."

Gerard gave an unimpressed snort before he craned his neck so he could look back at the other man. "And that's been useful when?"

"OK, never - but it kept Helen happy. And it impressed the hell out of the other husbands. I bet Cosmo's been trained up by Caroline. I could always work on you. They train seals, so how hard can one deputy marshal be?"

"Doesn't that depend on what you're doing to him? How often can we get a perp in a turquoise shirt? Though if - "

"Can it wait until after the game?" interrupted Kimble as he absently thumbed the aureole of Gerard's left nipple.

"Sure," murmured Gerard equably.

Resigned to being ignored unless he showed signs of actually expiring on the spot, he went back to reading. Because he had trained himself to cut out extraneous noise years ago, the commentary on television went unheard but it was impossible not to be aware of the course of the game because of the action of Richard's fingers against him. They tensed, relaxed, tickled and - once - pinched him, eliciting a hastily muffled squeak which Richard didn't even notice. His left nipple throbbing and a growing heaviness in his balls, Gerard tried to ignore the heat suffusing him and concentrate on the blue-white waste of Antarctica but the thumb idly circling his nipple wasn't helping his concentration.

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Kimble abruptly. His tensing fingers splayed protectively across Sam's heart as he peered into his lover's face.

"Why?" asked Gerard, defensive about the ease and speed of his response to the other man.

"Your breathing is - " Widening the field of his gaze, Kimble trailed off into silence when he saw the clear outline of Gerard's cock thrusting against the worn, soft denim of his oldest jeans.

He made a sound deep in his throat, part longing, part exasperation. "Your timing sucks. How I am supposed to concentrate on the game while you're lying there looking tempting enough to make my mouth water. If you had a shred of decency you'd have waited until - " Breaking off his complaint, Kimble slid from the couch to kneel on the floor. His back to the game, he applied all his concentration to his lover.

***

Having worked for a thankless twenty two hours, the bleakness of Kimble's expression eased when he rounded the final bend in the drive and saw that one of the three cars parked outside the house was a black Ferrari. His melancholy at his inability to work miracles beginning to slide away, he parked his Corvette behind Gerard's car. Emerging into the early morning sunshine, he slid his palm over the sun-warmed hood before he let himself into the house.

Leaning back against the front door which he had just closed, he gave a wry grin when he heard the amount of chatter and laughter coming from the kitchen. Whatever the case had been it must have been successfully resolved; and if the case was over, Sam would be home for a while.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he automatically slung it over the newel post as he crossed the entrance hall. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen and propped one broad shoulder against the door jamb. Making no attempt to draw attention to himself he stood enjoying the inter-action of the six people moving around the room; unpacking groceries, setting out food and preparing juice and coffee, they cheerfully over-rode each other's conversations. Gerard was mostly hidden behind the bulk of Biggs and Ritchie, but it was ease itself to pick out the honeyed Texan drawl weaving its way through the various conversational threads; lacking its usual bite and flair, his voice was warm and lazy sounding. Sam had all his defenses down - a sure sign he was particularly pleased with his kids.

Removing his tie, which was already at half-mast, Kimble unfastened several buttons and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then Biggs moved and Kimble forgot everything else as a familiar figure came into view. Perfectly balanced and straight of back, the muscles down the length of spine, buttock and thigh rearranged themselves as Gerard stretched to reach into a high cupboard before handing the bowl down to Poole. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a thin black jersey cotton tee shirt, which clung to his lean torso, emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the flat, muscled planes of his chest; his tan had deepened in the three days since Kimble had seen him last. His head slightly cocked as he listened to whatever Ritchie was telling him, only a quarter of Gerard's profile was visible. As he looked at the downsweep of the thick, uncompromisingly straight eyelashes and the tender set of the beautifully cut mouth Kimble felt his heart melt as if for the first time. He wanted Sam so badly it was a living ache within him.

He was distracted from Gerard-watching when Renfro wandered over to where Sam stood, patted him on the midriff for no good reason and strolled away again; the patience in the look Gerard cast after him made Kimble frown. Now he thought about it, there was something odd about the group dynamics. It was nothing new for Sam to be at their center but all the deputies were staying close to him; despite the size of the room they found excuses to brush past or touch him, as if needing to reassure themselves that he was there.

Or that he was safe.

The thought dropped coldly into warm contentment, ripples of chill spreading out in ever-widening concentric circles. Blood thumped in Kimble's ears, fear rising. The sudden snap of Gerard's voice brought him back to safety, enabling him to push the idea away.

"Noah, get your ass back on that chair. I don't need you under foot as well. Damn kids," muttered Gerard.

Newman gave him a sleepy smile but he stayed put, murmuring something too soft for Kimble to catch, but it made Renfro and Biggs, who were closest to him, laugh. With a reluctant grin, Gerard gave the short ponytail an admonitory tweak before he got back to work. While Newman held up his end of the teasing that was going on with the other deputies, his attention remained on Gerard.

Kimble gave the younger man an indulgent look. Noah wouldn't be the first - or last - person to warm their hands at the life-giving fire that was Sam Gerard. He did it himself, although this morning it was going to take more than even Sam's energy to keep him awake. In fact he should think about catching some sleep while he had the chance. Yawning as he straightened from his prop, he drew the attention of the other deputies; there was a chorus of exuberant greetings. Remaining in the background, Gerard smiled a private welcome.

His gaze locked on the other man, it was a moment before Kimble became aware that, with a peculiar delicacy, the deputies were busying themselves setting the table, giving them privacy, should they want to make use of it. Warmth lighting his tired eyes, he crossed the room to where Gerard had paused in his preparation of fresh fruit.

"Morning." Kimble's gaze travelled slowly over the much-loved face, checking what toll, if any, the case had taken on his lover. Sam looked tired, and he was still wired but otherwise fine, he was relieved to see.

"Richard." While Gerard's tone was casual, the way in which he looked at the other man was not.

"It's been a long three days," Kimble said, his voice flattened despite his attempt to inject life into it.

Gerard stopped chopping to give him a searching look that Kimble was too preoccupied to notice.

"I've missed you," Kimble continued, his voice muted to ensure their privacy.

Stubble was darkening Sam's jawline and chin and he was virtually fizzing with barely confined energy. Nothing new in that. Sam always made him feel as if he could deal with anything; made him aware of the limitless possibilities of life when his own energy levels flagged. Easing closer to where Gerard had returned to chopping melon into plump chunks, he soaked up the reality of his lover. The stresses of his day began to slide away.

"It seemed a while to me," Gerard acknowledged, finger-feeding Kimble a juicy piece of melon. "You've had a bad night," he recognized, his voice too low to carry beyond the other man. Everything about him, from his body language to the gentle tone of his voice, invited Richard to confide in him. He responded without even being aware of it.

"You might have heard about it on the news. A school bus crashed. My patients didn't make it." Placing his hands flat on the counter in front of him, he studied his outstretched fingers through brooding eyes; today he had been given a painful reminder of his limitations. Flexing his stiffened neck and shoulders, he unconsciously leant closer to the comfort Sam offered just by being himself.

Gerard glanced at the other man's bowed head. "If you're not up for this I can kick the kids out." He cast a brief look at the deputies, who were studiously ignoring them while they drank coffee around the table.

Kimble lifted his head at that. "No effort required," he said, more or less truthfully. He patted Gerard's midriff because it was one of the few caresses he could permit himself while he was around Sam's kids. "Having them here is like old times. You need a hand?"

"I'm done. When did you eat last?" Picking up the dish, Gerard placed his free hand in the small of Kimble's back and steered him over to the table.

Kimble looked vague. "I can't remember. It doesn't matter, I'm not hungry." Gazing at the laden table top, he gave a lop-sided grin. "So much for the illusion of healthy eating," he murmured as he eyed the plates of croissants, muffins, danish pastries and doughnuts.

"I hate it when you're pious," said Renfro. Giving Kimble a shrewd look, he set a cinnamon danish on a plate. "Your favorite - if memory serves. It's been a while, Richard."

"That's your cue to say you've missed us," interjected Newman, pouring him some coffee.

"Ah, but I cannot tell a lie." Kimble slid onto the chair Biggs drew out for him. Catching Poole's gaze, he found a grin of reassurance for her and recognized that he must look even worse than he felt. "It's been a while since I've seen you guys. Bring me up-to-date on all the gossip," he invited, biting into the danish without noticing what he was doing.

Discovering he was starving two mouthfuls later, he took in the details: Poole's new outfit and how attentive she was to Sam; the bruise darkening Newman's cheekbone and the way his gaze rarely left Sam; Renfro's appalling haircut - and the looks he kept shooting at Sam; and the gold ear-stud Biggs had acquired, and the fact that even he was keeping an eye on Sam.

"Wesley got it for me," Biggs explained, giving a bashful grin as he fingered the stud. "What do you think of it, Richard?"

"It looks good on you," Kimble adjudged, pulling his own ear lobe in a thoughtful manner. "I wouldn't mind getting something like that," he mused. "Even if I will have to buy it for myself."

"Eat your breakfast," Gerard advised him. Aware of the expectant looks the others were giving him he resolutely reminded himself that Richard's kicked spaniel expression was simply the work of a master manipulator. That didn't stop it from being effective, of course.

Kimble gave a philosophical shrug. "It was worth a try."

"An ear-stud would suit you," Newman said, after due consideration. "I've been wondering about getting one myself."

"We could go and get it done together," suggested Kimble wickedly, before he shot his stony-faced lover a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Did you say anything, Sam?"

"I choked," Gerard explained, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes.

Kimble wished they were alone so he could lick away the sugar caught at the side of Sam's mouth. As if picking up on the thought, Gerard's tongue flicked out before he got up and began to serve everyone who wanted it with fresh coffee.

"Nice going, Richard," said Newman idly.

"Thanks. For what?" Kimble shook off a piece of pineapple from the bowl of fruit in front of him before finger-feeding himself melon and papaya.

"Getting Sam trained. We never used to get waiter service."

"Living dangerously, young man," Gerard told him, patting Newman lightly on the shoulder before he leant forward to top up Ritchie's mug.

Newman gave one of his deceptively vague smiles and sleepily ate the piece of pineapple Kimble had rejected.

"You're all looking very pleased with yourselves. Case closed?" checked Kimble. He was still trying to place the mood of those around him, puzzled by the slight edginess he could sense beneath the smiles.

"You bet," said Gerard promptly. "Thanks mainly to Henry and Noah here."

"Big Dog loves us," Renfro explained, patting Gerard on the flank with the absent-minded affection he gave one of his children.

"Does that mean I can go home?" Ritchie asked as he finished his coffee.

"Our company not good enough for you?" enquired Renfro.

"Leaving that aside, I have a choice between spending time with you guys or being with my beautiful, pregnant wife."

"Well, if you put it like that," conceded Renfro fairly. "Could you give me a ride? If that's OK with you, Sammy?"

Gerard reseated himself. "Like I mind who Henry gives a ride. Go, go."

Getting to his feet, Renfro helped himself to a couple of croissants. "Supplies for the journey," he explained to Poole, who shook her head at him. "You take care now, Sammy. No, sit, rest. We can see ourselves out."

"Adios. Thank your cousin for the use of his van."

Waving an acknowledgement, Renfro continued on his way out, his other hand on Ritchie's broad shoulder while he rashly promised not to leave crumbs in the beat-up wreck that was the love of Ritchie's life - after his wife.

"Poole, is there any chance of catching a ride?" asked Biggs, with no real doubt about the answer.

"Sure. Just as soon as I've finished my coffee," she said calmly.

Having noticed Newman's stiffened gait when the younger man went to take a carton of milk from the refrigerator, Kimble was giving little of his attention to their conversation. He intercepted Newman before he was halfway back to the table.

"Has someone checked you out?" he demanded, his fingers automatically wrapping themselves around the younger man's wrist to check his pulse.

"No," said Poole. "Noah wouldn't give them the chance."

Newman gave her the cross look of the over-tired stubbornly holding out against sleep.

Now the younger man had dropped his guard Kimble realized that Noah had reached the stage of exhaustion where every mundane action required intense concentration to perform.

"You mind telling me why not, Noah?" he asked.

"I don't like hospitals," Newman replied sulkily.

"Then you'll have to make do with me. Go get undressed in the downstairs john while I fetch my bag."

"Richard, I don't need - "

"Like it or not, you do and I'm too tired to want to argue about it. Haul ass." The snap in Kimble's voice made several heads turn.

Newman tensed, opened his mouth and noticed Gerard studiously studying the floor. Recognition of the older man's impossible position made Newman concede defeat. Giving Kimble a look of betrayal, he trailed off to his doom; if he had possessed a tail it would have been tucked between his legs.

"Richard - " began Gerard once Newman had left the room.

"Save it. You should have made sure he saw a doctor," Kimble added from the doorway, an aggressive set to his chin and an accusing look in his hazel eyes.

About to pursue the point, Gerard visibly stopped himself and parted his hands in surrender. "You're right," he allowed quietly, having vowed never to argue about medical matters with Richard again.

Taken aback by that unexpected agreement, Kimble shot him a look of suspicion before he went upstairs.

"So this is why you insisted we come back to your house for breakfast," said Biggs as he stacked dirty dishes in the dishwasher. "That's very sneaky, Sam."

"Necessary," interjected Poole as she cleared the last items from the table. "Noah wouldn't have agreed to see a doctor while he's in this stubborn mood."

"I know it," said Gerard, his gaze still on the direction Kimble had taken.

"Richard looks tired through and through," added Biggs. "Was he working on those kids from the crashed bus? Henry had the radio on in the car on the way over here. It sounded a real mess."

Gerard had already turned back to him. "It was. His patients didn't make it," he added quietly. "There's no way he'll let anyone else see to Noah now. I'll go mediate. And make sure Richard gets plenty of rest."

"Noah, too," said Biggs.

"Like I'm going to kick him out? Gimme a break here," said Gerard patiently.

"OK, it was a dumb thing to say," Biggs allowed as he rubbed the back of his neck. His face was pasty with fatigue.

"Now I know you must be tired," mocked Gerard, but his expression was gentle. "It's not surprising. You guys had the tough breaks on this one. You did good."

"We know," said Poole, deadpan.

Smiling down at her with undisguised warmth, Gerard shook his head in admiration and held out her jacket for her to shrug into. "Go home, get some sleep." He paused to tweak her collar straight, an attention Poole was so used to from him that she took no notice of it.

"And when we get back to the office you'll be all sweetness and light?" suggested Biggs with a grin.

"Miracles take longer. I hope you're not suggesting I'm not perfect?"

"Isn't that a double negative?" mused Poole, her expression bland.

Biggs hastily straightened his twitching mouth.

Undeceived, Gerard shook his head at him. "Mr Poker Face. You could take lessons from Poole here. On second thoughts, don't. One Poole is enough for any man." Catching her considering gaze, and with cause to be wary of whatever she might say next, he hurried on, "I meant to say before. That - " he raised a broad-tipped finger to his own ear, " - does look good on you."

There was pure affection in the grin Biggs's gave him. "Right, Sam."

"Hey, I might not want one but - Get outta here," he growled, patting Biggs on the shoulder.

"Come on, Robert," said Poole from the kitchen doorway. "With luck I'll have caught enough sleep to make sense when Roger comes home. Thanks for breakfast, Sam. You make sure you get some rest yourself," she added, as if she couldn't help herself.

"I will. Drive safely, bambini."

"We will be. I'm the one driving," Poole said with a pointed look at Biggs.

"I resent that. My driving's no worse than Sam's," he returned with spirit.

"Is that supposed to be a recommendation?" she retaliated at the front door.

"Take it from one who's learnt the hard way and quit now," Gerard advised Biggs.

"Some people are just such poor losers," murmured Poole. "You take care." Not given to physical demonstrations of warmth with her co-workers, she stretched to her full height and gave Gerard's cheek the briefest kiss before hurrying out.

Disconcerted, for a moment Gerard was off-balance.

"Don't worry, Sam. We're not all about to do it," joked Biggs, hurrying out to Poole's car when she pointedly began to rev the engine.

Smiling by this time, Gerard waved them off. Going into his office to catch up on the stack of paperwork he had brought home with him, he applied himself to dull necessity until he remembered that one of the files he had been searching for was still in the kitchen. Crossing the entrance hall, he paused at the open doorway of the bathroom when he heard a stifled sound of pain. Stepping into the room, he paused and shook his head. Having bent to take off his shoes, Newman had got stuck halfway down.

"Hold on there, young man. What are you trying to do?" Gerard enquired, gently easing him back to a sitting position.

Newman gave him a look which combined irritation and pathos. "Stop Richard from being mad at me. Boy, he's meaner than you."

"No, you just don't see that side of him so often," Gerard told him cheerfully. He swung around when he heard the front door open. Stepping out into the hall, he stared across it when he saw Kimble shut the door behind him.

"Where have you been?"

Kimble swung a paper sack at him. "The pharmacy down the street for an antibiotic and local. Noah's allergic to lidocaine." Picking up the medical bag he had left outside the bathroom, he went inside and glared at Newman. "I thought I told you to get undressed?" he said sternly. Unwrapping his purchases, he threw away the packaging then began to scrub his hands.

The younger man had his shirt off in seconds, but another grunt escaped him as he reached down to his shoes again.

"Damn it, Noah, will you stop trying to do that. You're turning green," said Gerard in a tone which imperfectly concealed his concern.

"I don't need - "

"Save it," Gerard snapped. Giving the younger man an irritable look, while muttering under his breath about rotten kids who were too dumb to duck, he dropped to his knees in front of Newman and tackled the knotted laces of his suede boots for him.

Busy scrubbing up, Kimble was touched by the fleeting expression he saw on Newman's unguarded face as he stared down at Gerard's bowed head: embarrassment, affection and, what Kimble found most endearing, a hero-worship undiminished by his extensive knowledge of the other man.

"I knew it could only be a matter of time before one of his kids brought Sam to his knees," he joked.

"I just never thought it would be me. I could make a fortune if I had a camera." Newman almost hit the nonchalant tone he was aiming for, but it was obvious he found the experience of Gerard at his feet difficult to deal with.

"The novelty of Sam on his knees wears off," offered Kimble flippantly as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Only when Gerard shook his head with amused resignation did Kimble appreciate the various possibilities of that remark - all of which had obviously occurred to Newman, who was studiously avoiding anyone's eye after giving a muffled choke of laughter.

"Mr Discretion," mocked Gerard. "It's lucky Noah suffers from selective deafness." Matter-of-factly removing Newman's socks for him, he rolled them into a ball and tossed them into his lap as he got to his feet.

Kimble unfastened Newman's trousers and drew them down to mid-thigh, his frown deepening as he studied the younger man's torso. "It's a pity he never learnt how to dodge. Damn it, Sam, you should have made him see a doctor before now," he snapped as he began to make an examination.

"It wasn't Sam's fault," protested Newman, predictably springing to the older man's defense.

"A fat lot your opinion's worth," Kimble snorted, although he had the sense not to embarrass either man by explaining that remark.

"Well, it wasn't," muttered Newman rebelliously.

His stubborn insistence on defending Sam slid under Kimble's defenses and a slow but genuine grin formed. "According to him it never is. Don't encourage him." He had to break off to yawn, swallowing it when he recognized Newman's obvious trepidation. "Don't look so worried, I won't fall asleep on you with a scalpel in my hand. Yell if it hurts," he added cheerfully. "Sam, leave. You know you don't like it when I start torturing one of your kids."

"Nor do they," muttered Newman but he had relaxed.

Kimble grinned again as he leant down to rummage in his medical bag. "Here it is. Hold still and stare ahead while I check out your eyes. That's it. Now the other one. It's lucky I wasn't expecting to be overwhelmed with gratitude."

"He's grateful," Gerard said, staring down at Newman. "Don't give Richard any grief, OK?"

"As if," Newman mumbled.

Gerard nodded and wandered out of the room.

Resigned to his fate by this time, Newman studied the tired face of the man crouched in front of him. "You should be catching up on your sleep, not seeing to me. You look worse than I do," he added frankly.

"Take a tip from an expert, your bedside manner could use some work," Kimble told him.

"But I'm fine apart from a few bruises and stuff. The bump on the head was nothing."

"Thank you, Doctor Newman," Kimble said dryly. "Resign yourself to staying here for the rest of the day. I want to keep an eye on you for possible concussion."

"Sam worries too much," mumbled Newman, wincing as Kimble probed his way down his side.

"Sorry. And there? Yeah." Kimble eased the pressure immediately and looked up. "I don't think they're cracked but you need to get them x-rayed tomorrow. I mean it, Noah," he added sternly.

"All right," he confirmed in a sulky voice.

Having administered the local, Kimble was waiting for it to take effect. "I know Sam worries too much," he said, taking a sachet of saline and forceps from his bag before searching for the butterfly plasters, "but humor him. It's less trouble in the long run. This is an ugly gash you've got. I don't know what Sam was thinking of not taking you to hospital."

"He couldn't insist in the circumstances. Oh shit." Newman's consternation made it obvious that he had let something important slip.

Kimble's head rose, his unsmiling eyes narrowing as he held the younger man's gaze. "What circumstances would they be?"

"Sam's my boss, not my keeper."

"Spare me the bullshit, Noah. What happened today? You may as well tell me now because, one way or another, I'll find out. Do I have to ask Sam?" The warning was clear.

"No, don't do that," said Newman quickly. He looked resigned, rather harassed, very young and deathly tired.

"Give me one good reason."

"Sam asked us not to tell you," mumbled Newman, only when it occurred to him that if he didn't say something Richard would make good his threat.

Kimble didn't give an inch. "That isn't an option any more. What happened? I was watching you all when you were with Sam. None of you were willing to let him out of your sight. As if - " He stopped dead, the muscles in his face setting against the knowledge he had already recognized on some visceral level. A muscle jumped and twitched in his jaw. "How close did I come to losing him?" he asked, his attenuated voice painful to hear.

Newman swallowed. "Too close," he admitted eventually, seeing no way out of this.

"Tell me." The command was without emphasis but it was unmistakably a command as Kimble got back to work. While his fingers were as steady as ever they were icy cold, despite the warmth of the day.

Newman exhaled grumpily. "It was a hostage situation, OK?"

Ostensibly, all Kimble's attention was given to cleaning the gash down Newman's side. "That depends who was the hostage. Was it Sam?"

"That's right. Lukas was so wired Sam took a calculated risk and went in for the baby. He was held for almost seven hours. Lukas was out of the line of fire and kept a .44 jammed against the base of Sam's spine. That meant we had no option but to negotiate. I was the only one on the spot for a while. Because Lukas started to talk to me I ended up completing the negotiations."

"This Lukas. What's he wanted for?" The deadened note in Kimble's voice made Newman give him a worried look.

"Triple murder."

Kimble nodded, as if he had expected no less. "How did he manage to hold Sam a prisoner for so long?"

"The baby was still alive."

Kimble had to pause in his ministrations for a moment or two. "How did you get hurt?"

Newman muttered something inaudible.

"I didn't hear that. Stop wasting my time and tell me outright."

"Damn it, Richard, I - " Angry and resentful and feeling as if he was betraying Gerard's trust, Newman made the mistake of meeting Kimble's eyes. "You're right," he accepted with a sigh of defeat. "You do have a right to know." Without emphasis he gave the bare bones of events; they weren't something he was eager to dwell on himself. He couldn't remember ever being as scared as he had been in the early hours of this morning.

"Then, just when we thought we were getting to him, Lukas lost it. He was about to kill Sam so I kind of - "

"Saved his life," completed Kimble, without discernible emotion. Applying the last butterfly plaster, he sank back onto his haunches and pulled off his gloves.

Newman gave the older man another worried look.

"Have you got anyone staying with you at your apartment?" Kimble asked.

"No, but - "

"Then, like it or not, you'll have to spend the next twenty-four hours here. You have a slight concussion. You ever need anything - I mean anything - you come to me," Kimble added, his voice shaking with barely leashed emotion.

Not the most imaginative of men, Newman suddenly understood why Gerard had wanted to protect Kimble from this discovery. The doctor had already seen one lover murdered. To lose another by violence - He had the sense to nod.

"Thanks, Richard," he said, needing to make some formal acknowledgement. "Look, I know it's hard to believe right now, but our job really isn't that dangerous and - "

"Spare me the platitudes, Noah." There was a grim set to Kimble's mouth.

Newman nodded his apology. "It was a dumb thing to say," he accepted.

Clamping down on the terror threatening to swamp him, Kimble shook his head and tried to concentrate on the man in front of him. "Not for a guy as exhausted as you are. Seven hours of negotiating to keep a man alive can do that. But it explains why Sam's still so full of energy."

"Not necessarily. Sam's always full of energy. I wouldn't say no to a few hours sleep," Newman admitted. Dressed only in his jockey shorts, he laboriously got to his feet and stood there swaying.

Kimble placed a steadying hand under his forearm. "I'll see you upstairs." He gave the younger man no time to feel self-conscious about the help he was receiving. "What do you think about a diamond ear-stud? About so big?" He gestured with his finger and thumb as he steered Newman into the spare room. "For me, of course."

"The alternative never occurred to me," said Newman with a sleepy grin as he sank onto the edge of the bed.

Kimble eased him fully onto the mattress and settled a light cover over him.

"Thanks," mumbled Newman, before he roused himself. "I'd say go for something a little bigger as you can afford it. One carat would look cool. You know, about the size of a small pea. I don't need you to sit up with me," he added, his eyes already closing.

"I'm like Sam, it's less trouble to humor me," Kimble told him.

"I guess. Thanks. I think." Newman was asleep almost before he had finished speaking.

Grateful that Sam was obviously busy with something downstairs, because he wasn't convinced he could face him yet, Kimble sank onto a straight-backed chair; if he took one of the easy chairs he would be asleep within minutes. It was then that his mask slipped, the knowledge of what he had almost lost today sweeping over him. He covered his mouth with his fist until he could be certain he had it under control, gripped by a panic attack until he recognized what was happening to him. He concentrated on controlling his breathing.

Dying was a risk Sam faced every day. People who loved routine and predictability didn't apply to become deputy marshals; Sam never knew from one hour to the next where he would be or what he would be doing. That was the reality he had avoided facing. He had always known it; he had just avoided squaring up to the truth, preferring the cozy fantasy of a perfect life in their perfect, safe world. That lie had just been ripped to shreds.

Every day could be the last time he saw Sam alive. Statistically few deputy marshals were hurt in the line of duty but there was no comfort to be found in statistics. Statistically Helen should have lived to a ripe old age.

He couldn't lose Sam, too.

Not Sam.

Staring bleakly into the middle distance, Kimble accepted with a dull ache that went to the heart that this was something over which he had no control. The only way through it was to get on with it, live each day to the full - and not dwell on what he had learned. He could do that. He had to - for Sam's sake.

He was so deep in thought that it took a touch on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Hey," said Gerard quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Sure." The necessity of responding with just the right degree of lightness took more energy than Kimble possessed.

"Is Noah OK?" pursued Gerard, still troubled.

"He should be." Kimble's spine had slipped so low that he was in danger of sliding off the chair and he pushed himself up on the seat. "I'll keep an eye on him just in case. What have you been doing?"

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "I got caught up on the phone."

"You should get some sleep."

"I know. I'll do that when I've unwound some more. You know what it's like." From Gerard's easy tone it sounded as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Perhaps he hadn't, accepted Kimble dully. He was alive, after all. Or maybe he was putting on an act too. He certainly wouldn't be able to unwind by talking out this case as he sometimes did. Though he'd had his kids around. But he would have liked to be the one Sam came to for comfort.

Damn it, he had the right to be there for Sam.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Gerard suggested, his frown more pronounced as he hovered above his lover. "I'll stay with Noah. I know the signs to look for and I've got a mess of paperwork to deal with." He gestured downwards and for the first time Kimble noticed the stack of paper Sam had placed beside the easy chair.

"I'll sleep later. When I've unwound. Would it be all right if I sit here for a while with you?" Kimble thought he managed to stop it from sounding like a plea, but he wanted Sam where he could see him at the moment, needing constant reassurance that he was safe.

Hiding his surprise Gerard gave an equable nod. "Sure. I'd like that." His burst of honesty won him the faintest of smiles and he patted Kimble's shoulder. Richard always seemed to think he should be able to work miracles. The aftermath of that crash would have been a bitch. "I could use something to drink. Is juice OK for you?"

"Anything," Kimble said listlessly.

His brooding gaze followed the other man out the room. To dwell on what might have been was the way to madness but he couldn't push it out of his mind. Sam must never suspect that he knew the truth. He could do this. And if he couldn't he would have to learn - and learn quickly or he risked souring everything he valued most about their relationship.

When Gerard returned with cold drinks Kimble was staring at his own hands again. Without looking up, he said, "I don't like it when you're away." His voice barely audible, he sounded exhausted. Reaching out, he placed his palm to the back of Gerard's leg, just above the knee, letting the heat of living flesh warm his inner chill.

Looking at the bowed head and subdued body language, Gerard rested his fingers on the glossy hair and lightly massaged the scalp beneath it. "I know," he murmured, mindful of Newman asleep only a few feet away from them. "But I should be home for a while now." He would ensure he was; at least until Richard recovered his emotional balance. For the last twenty hours he would have been keeping his surgical team going, as well as working to the best of his ability. He rubbed the top of Kimble's scalp with his knuckles in an unobtrusive caress. "If you won't go to bed, at least take the easy chair."

"I'll fall asleep," warned Kimble without looking up.

"That's the general idea. I'll be here."

Kimble's head rose at that. "Yes," he acknowledged. And there was so much love in his slow smile of satisfaction that Gerard had to bend and kiss him gently on the mouth, Newman or no Newman.

Having got his lover into the more comfortable chair, Gerard settled himself on the floor, his back resting against the edge of the chair seat, so that he was brushing Kimble's right leg.

"Are you sure you're comfortable down there?" Kimble asked, his voice leaden with fatigue.

"Positive."

"Can you work like that?"

Gerard craned his neck back. "Give me a break," he said patiently. "I can work anywhere. Trust me."

Kimble rubbed his thumb across the tip of Gerard's ear. "All the time, Sam. All the time."

When Richard fell silent, Gerard got to work. Fingers slowly caressed the nape of his neck before they stilled and grew heavy. Kimble was asleep in under five minutes. Setting aside his paperwork, Gerard divided his time between watching his sleeping deputy, while listening to the deep breathing of his exhausted lover, giving silent thanks that he was alive to do both.

 

It was just gone one in the afternoon when Kimble was called back to the hospital, giving Gerard the unenviable task of waking him. His heart aching at the effort it cost the other man, Gerard watched him drag himself back to a state of alertness by sheer will-power.

Catching the expression on his lover's face, Kimble patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Of course you will," agreed Gerard, opening the front door for him.

"About Noah - "

"I'll stay up with him," Gerard anticipated.

Kimble gave him a quizzical look. "Taken to running on batteries, have you, deputy?"

"I'll wake him around seven, check he's really OK, then go to bed myself, all right?"

"That's one way of looking at it." One hand on Gerard's flank, Kimble patted the flat-planed chest. "I could do worse than you," he said in his most casual tone before he headed out the door.

Gerard remained propped in the doorway until the Corvette was out of sight before he went back upstairs to keep a watch over the man who had saved his life.

 

Kimble was back home before eight that evening, charged with the vitality which came from saving a life which should have been lost. He was virtually crackling with energy and convinced in his own mind that he had dealt with the issues surrounding Gerard's safety. Just because he had over-reacted once didn't mean he had to make a habit of it.

Calling out Gerard's first name as he entered the house, a reply from their bedroom took him up the stairs two at a time.

"Hi," said Gerard, looking up when the half-open door to their room was flung back so hard it bounced on its hinges. Balanced on one foot, he hauled off his sock. "You've had a successful day," he recognized.

"I was moderately brilliant," Kimble conceded. "Has Noah gone home?"

"You've just missed him." Gerard unzipped and removed his jeans, checked that the pockets were empty and tossed the jeans into the laundry. He yanked his black tee shirt over his head and threw it in the same direction. "To look at him you'd think that young man had enjoyed a two week vacation. He's up and ready to party."

Nodding, Kimble allowed his gaze to roam, tracing the curve of rib, the thin, dark line of hair, the provocative jut of the navel and the flat, out-thrust belly. Then Gerard took off his shorts and Kimble's dick quivered in response, as if to announce its readiness.

"Have you had any sleep yet?" Kimble's voice was harshened by desire.

"I'm just about to go to bed." Gerard belatedly became aware of the amount of attention he was attracting.

"Have you showered?"

"Not since yesterday morning."

Until Richard's heavy-lidded gaze stroked its way around his body Gerard would have sworn he was too tired. His dick had other ideas.

"Good. Then you'll smell of you." Kimble had already begun to strip where he stood. Letting his expensive suit drop to the floor, he stepped through the abandoned clothing, naked except for his watch and Saint Christopher.

"That seems a certainty," Gerard agreed, watching the sway of the full testicles as Richard padded towards him.

"I want to fuck you," said Kimble baldly. "Do you think you can stay awake for another fifteen minutes?"

Flexing his neck and shoulders, Gerard paused. "If I can't, be sure to wake me for the finish." Slipping off his watch, he set it on the nightstand before he rummaged inside it for the lubricant. Tossing it to Kimble, he matter-of-factly positioned himself over the side of the bed.

Richard was inside him after only the most cursory of preliminaries. A soft grunt escaped Gerard and he arched slightly, one hand splaying before it closed over the sheet. Shifting position to increase his own comfort, he felt Kimble's hands tighten their grip on his flanks, as if Richard thought he might be trying to escape. Finding the breath for some muttered encouragement, he let his head drop and gave himself up to his lover's pleasure. Within a short space of time his fingers were opening and shutting in the crumpled fabric in time to the rhythm Kimble was imposing on him.

His face set in a rictus that betrayed the demons driving him, his teeth grazing Gerard's neck, Kimble fucked him deep and hard and fast.

Proving that Sam was his, over and over again.

 

Kimble's hand curled around his now lax cock, Gerard was slumped face down across the wide mattress. Mindless, he stared blankly at the sheet as sense returned to him. He knew he would feel the marks of Richard's possession tomorrow. Marked. Owned. Spoken for. He would never have believed it could feel so good - or that he would ever have needed to feel like this. Light-headed from lack of sleep, he wondered how Richard had known this was what he needed when he hadn't realized it himself.

In a state of torpor between sleep and waking, he murmured deep in his chest when various quiet sounds turned into actions and Richard began to sponge him clean - not just in the obvious places - then pat him dry. Obedient to a quiet instruction, he rolled onto his back when he was told, watching his lover's engrossed face as Richard continued to clean him. Only when his toes had been dried did Kimble lose his matter-of-fact air and bend to kiss his dick where it was curved on his newly washed thigh.

The next kiss was to Gerard's left armpit, where his arm was curved lazily over his head, Kimble nuzzling the silky dark hair tufting there.

"Turn over again," he murmured. "No, not back onto the damp patch. Too late. OK, stay there."

"I intend to," Gerard mumbled, his face pillowed on his folded arms.

"You do that," said Kimble, amused, yet unable to hide his satisfaction that he had brought Sam Gerard to this boneless state of bliss.

Gerard opened his eyes when warm oil trickled along the central groove of his spine. Muscles twitched because it tickled, then the skilled hands began to ease away the knots which had been locking his neck, shoulders and scalp for the last thirty-six hours: even before he had been taken hostage. His face tightening, he pushed the unwelcome memories away. There was no need for Richard to ever find out about that. It felt strange to lie to him, even by omission. It was only now that he couldn't talk this out with Richard that Gerard appreciated how much he took for granted his freedom to discuss anything and everything with his lover. But talking out his near-brush with death - or the debt he owed Noah that he could never repay - wasn't an option. Richard had only just found peace of mind, he wasn't about to shatter it.

Those strong, skilled fingers working their magic, his muscles began to unknot, leaving him drifting in a sea of well-being. More asleep than awake, he reached behind him, fumbled for and patted Richard's hand.

"Love you," he offered in a sleep-slurred voice.

Kimble kissed the top of Sam's thigh, just below the rise of his buttock. "I know you do." His thumbs avoided the bruised site on Gerard's lower back where the killer's gun had ground into him. Other bruises were still forming, but at least he had inflicted those. "You'll remember me every time you move tomorrow." He made no attempt to hide his satisfaction.

Gerard smiled into the sheet. "It's fair to say you've seen to that," he allowed. He gave a voluptuous wriggle. "Don't stop," he begged.

"I won't. Not yet, anyway."

An untold time later, pampered, indulged and with his muscles the approximate consistency of over-cooked spaghetti, Gerard mumbled a vague complaint when the wonderful hands slowed to a standstill. His butt received a valedictory pat.

"I know you could take this all night but I'm getting cramp. Besides, you need to sleep and I'm hungry. Have you eaten? Sam, don't fall asleep on me. You need to eat."

"Ate with Noah before I kicked him out. I need to set the alarm for five," Gerard remembered, attempting to move.

"Stay put. I'll see to it."

"Knew you would. You see to everything." It was a barely comprehensible mumble.

"Not everything," said Kimble, because he couldn't stop himself. He kissed Gerard's shoulder, grimacing because the only taste was that of oil. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if you turned round so you're lengthways down the mattress, not across it? Why am I talking to myself?" he wondered out loud, realizing Gerard was asleep.

Collecting a sheet from the linen closet, he settled it over Gerard, set an afghan and pillow within reach and went to clean up.

 

When Kimble finally went to bed, he found Gerard in exactly the same position he had left him. Hauling down his own pillows, he settled under the sheet beside the man muttering and twitching as he relived events he could never share with his lover. Murmuring reassurances, Kimble stroked the other man back into a calmer sleep.

He kept his palm resting on Gerard for a long time afterwards, bleakly thinking of what might have been. The terror of it kept him awake for a very long time.

Jolted back to consciousness, half-defined images sliding away, it was a moment before Kimble realized it wasn't his nightmare which had woken him. Half-curved between side and belly, Sam continued to mutter in his sleep. The fingers curved on the pillow were twitching slightly, as were his legs. From his tense look whatever he was dreaming about was bringing him no pleasure.

A curious desperation on his unguarded face, more distressed about Sam's anxiety than his own, Kimble tucked the other man into the shelter of his arm and the curve of his body. His softly murmured reassurances and words of love slowly silenced the muttering; eventually Sam fell silent. But the muttering resumed after a few minutes. Watching the pattern of the shadows on the wall change, Kimble continued the pattern of soothing the sleeper back to a calmer sleep, until Gerard stirred semi-awake, snuggled closer with a murmur of recognition and slept without stirring for the remainder of the night.

 

Sunlight was flooding into their bedroom when Kimble awoke to find Sam lying on his side, his head propped on one hand, watching him.

After making a few incoherent noises Kimble rubbed his nose, yawned and gave his lover the bleary-eyed look of a man with approximately forty minutes sleep under his belt.

"What?" he demanded, aggrieved. "Can't a guy drool every once in a while?" The love he saw in those dark eyes left the sophisticated, if only half-awake, Doctor Kimble twitching with embarrassed pleasure. "Will you stop doing that," he complained.

Gerard's smile lit his entire face, betraying the gentleness within. "You could always try making me."

Kimble gave him a jaundiced look.

"Maybe later," Gerard conceded. "Have I told you that I love you recently?" he enquired matter-of-factly as he reached out to smooth down a spike of slightly greasy brown hair.

Kimble blinked and concentrated. "The night before you went away, as I remember," he said, equally casual. But suffused by happiness, he knew his expression must be betraying him. It was confirmed when Sam ran the side of his thumb across his lower lip.

"That's good. I needn't say it for a while then."

Whistling, Gerard left the bed and sauntered off in the direction of the bathroom. Without turning, he side-stepped the pillow hurled in his direction.

"Why you - " Fatigue forgotten, Kimble launched himself after his lover, his fears pushed back into their rightful place. For now.

***

 

Having collected Gerard's spare set of house keys from where he left them in the bottom drawer of his desk, Newman only remembered to call ahead when he was five minutes from the house. He let the phone ring for a good three minutes to confirm Kimble wasn't at home, although he would have given a lot to know why Cosmo had pressed the point so hard.

Watching the high security gates swing open, it occurred to Newman how rarely Sam invited them back here since he had started to live with Richard. While they had rarely been purely social occasions, he missed them all the same. These days they didn't see so much of Sam. But it was good to know he was so happy.

If only he could shake off the feeling that he had betrayed Sam's trust.

Rounding the last bend in the drive, Newman pulled up in front of the house and left the car. Revelling in the heat of the day after too many hours in icy air-conditioning, he leant against the driver's door, holding his face up to the sun. The city seemed a long way from this tranquil setting, which at first sight seemed an unlikely choice for a man as full of vitality as Sam Gerard. Or maybe this was how he maintained his energy levels, he mused idly.

The sound of a car engine close by swung him around in time to see Kimble's Corvette pull up behind him with a hiss of gravel.

"Is Sam OK?" Kimble called, his door opening almost before the handbrake was yanked on.

"He's fine," Newman replied instantly. The other man's anxiety was palpable.

"Sorry, knee-jerk reaction," recognized Kimble, trying and failing to make a joke of it. Taken aback by his over-reaction, he ducked back inside the Corvette to collect his keys, jacket and files. Almost achieving the nonchalant look he was aiming for, he straightened to face the younger man again.

"Sam's caught up in a meeting," continued Newman easily, as if he had noticed nothing wrong. "He asked me to collect some files he forgot to bring in with him. I did call through on the house phone." He hoped he had concealed his shock at the change in Richard since he had seen him last. His usual energy dimmed, all the lines on his face seemed accentuated, stress tightening his mouth.

"I'll give you the number of my mobile," said Kimble absently. As he remembered the debt he owed the younger man, he slowly set his belongings down on the hood of the car.

Newman looked up as Kimble strode purposefully over to him. Before he realized what the other man intended he was taken in a strong, fierce hug and released again.

"Thank you for Sam's life. There wasn't the chance to say much to you last week because he was around, but I need you to know that I don't take what you did for granted. I haven't - and won't - forget. If you ever need my help, my time, money, free advice about your sex life you come to me. I mean this, Noah. I want your promise that you'll come to me."

Held by an equally fierce gaze, Newman could only give an abashed duck of his head. He mumbled what he hoped was the right response.

"Trust me, there's a need," Kimble corrected him, in a tone that brooked no argument. It was a salutary reminder that this was a man who was used to getting his own way. Newman twitched edgily when he was pinned by a shrewd look.

"What's the real problem here?" The unexpected gentleness of Kimble's tone crumbled the younger man's resolve.

"I feel as if I've broken faith with Sam," he blurted out. "And for what? You're worried sick, I've lied to Sam and - "

"You're forgetting one minor detail," cut in Kimble ruthlessly. "I had a right to know. If it wasn't for the promise I made to you, I'd tell Sam so. Relax, I keep my promises. He'll never learn what happened between us from me."

Squinting in the full glare of the sun, Newman looked down, muttering as he toed the gravel. "That doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't. But you only have two options. You can salve your conscience and tell Sam yourself, or you can live with it and keep him in happy ignorance. My preference is for the option that keeps Sam happy," Kimble added matter-of-factly, "but it's your choice."

Newman gave him a look of disillusion. "That's no choice and you know it."

"Maybe not. But if you're serious about keeping it from Sam I suggest you stop looking so sorry for yourself. I'm just surprised he hasn't picked up on your hang-dog look already."

"He has," sighed Newman as he brushed a hand back through his hair. "And you're right. Though I won't pretend I like it," he added with the quiet stubbornness which was his trademark. "I guess the real problem is that I've got used to telling him the truth."

"Inconvenient," Kimble agreed, before he gave a familiar lop-sided grin. "And I bet he trades on that."

Newman gave a gloomy nod, then shot the older man a side-on glance of concern. Richard looked tired and somehow stretched, and as stressed as the time Sam had been kidnapped.

"That'll teach you to have an honest streak," Kimble teased.

To Newman the effort the other man was making was painfully obvious. "That has occurred to me," he conceded dryly, wondering if he dare say anything. He reminded himself that Sam's love-life was really none of his business and while he and Richard got on well, it wouldn't do to trade on their friendship.

"Have you got time for a drink?" Kimble asked him, squinting in the sunshine.

"Probably not, but I'd kill for something cold. If I'm late I can always blame it on you," lied Newman easily.

Unlocking the front door, Kimble led the way into the house, tossing his jacket over the newel post. Going into the kitchen, he began to squeeze oranges for fresh juice while Newman crushed ice. Drinks poured, Kimble looked up when he heard his companion sigh.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Nothing like that. I was just thinking, this is everything a kitchen should be. And the yard," Newman added, ambling over to the back door. "This is a great place to settle down," he mused as, ignoring the swing-seat they made themselves comfortable on the wide, smooth back steps.

That not a phrase he associated with Newman, Kimble gave the younger man a thoughtful look. "We like it. I'm kind of out of touch. How's life treating you?"

When the name 'Alison' crossed Newman's lips for the seventh time Kimble wondered if the younger man's always complicated love-life had simplified. That theory was strengthened when he realized Alison was three years older than Noah and had three small boys. Richard could almost see the younger man maturing in front of his eyes.

It was only when Newman got a phonecall from an irritable Sam Gerard demanding to know what had become of the papers he needed that the two men appreciated how long they had been sitting talking in the summer heat.

"Let me get this straight," said Gerard, in the deceptively mild tone which could make even Poole think twice. "You've made yourself comfortable out back, drinking my juice, while you talk to my - Put Richard on," he commanded with snap enough in his voice to threaten whiplash.

Doing so with a wry grimace, Newman went indoors to collect the papers Gerard had expected two hours ago.

"Sorry, Sam," said Kimble contritely. "I arrived home just after Noah got here and we started talking. It's my fault."

"No surprise there. How did you know I chewed Noah out?"

"His expression."

"Ah. It's good to know I haven't lost it," mused Gerard, sounding smug.

Kimble grinned fondly at nothing in particular. "No, you're still a bastard. I wish you'd been the one who'd come back for those papers."

"Me too. But there's no way I can play hooky today. This meeting needs a degree of seniority and I'm all that's left in the office."

"I can think of worse people to make do with. Should I get Noah to bring your bag with him?"

"Is he there?" demanded Gerard.

"Of course. Poised to hang on to your every word." Kimble raised his eyebrows when Newman winced with only partially assumed wariness.

"Don't over-play it," growled Gerard. "No bag. I'm not liable to be going anywhere more interesting than the john. Send him back to me. Tell him to drive safely. With the state of our budget I don't need any more insurance claims on the department."

Passing on the message, Kimble watched Newman's slow grin before he nodded his farewell and quickly left the house.

"He's on his way," he reported after he heard the car drive off. "You won't be going out in the field then?"

"Not this time," confirmed Gerard, remembering Poole's surprise when he had allocated the case to her. But he hadn't wanted to leave Richard while he was still so vulnerable after that school bus crash.

"Then you'll be home some time tonight?"

"I hope so. I mean I know this guy's a windbag - kind of like you and Noah, I guess - but - "

"You had to go and say it, didn't you," grinned Kimble, making himself comfortable. "Now I've got you to myself for a few minutes, how would you feel about a pornographic phonecall? I've always wanted to talk dirty."

"Don't let me stop you," said Gerard affably. "Though you might be interested to hear that they tape all our calls."

There was an appalled silence for a good fifteen seconds.

"You're kidding, right?" said Kimble, with more hope than expectation.

"Pitiful," mocked Gerard affectionately. "You should get some sleep. Of course, if you really want to talk dir - You want me, Henry?" he added in a totally different tone.

Kimble chuckled. "I could start listing my favorite parts of Sam Gerard. Favorite positions, come to that, but I'll save it until we can both enjoy it. You've got to go."

"Afraid so," said Gerard with genuine regret.

"Love you."

"Richard - "

"It's OK. I know you can't say so with Henry listening."

"Damn straight I can't."

"Straight?" queried Kimble.

"You can be the most aggravating - I do, OK?" said Gerard in a goaded tone.

"That sounded more like a declaration of war," pointed out Kimble.

"I wonder why. I love you. There. Satisfied?"

"You still talking to me?" Kimble checked, all innocence. While he couldn't hear anything, he was willing to bet Sam's lips were moving in silent imprecations.

"No, I'm talking to Henry," Gerard growled, before his tone changed again. "Henry, would I be telling you that I - ? Richard, stop laughing. Damn it. I'm ringing off before Henry busts something trying not to laugh." His announcement was followed by a quiet click.

Kimble was still grinning when he went to bed, where he slept for six hours, secure in the knowledge that Sam was safe, if bored.

***

 

When it occurred to him that Richard had been working all evening without a break, Gerard wandered upstairs with a couple of bottles of beer. The sound of running water from the bathroom made it obvious what had become of the other man.

The sight of his lover under the shower one of Gerard's favorite views, he strolled into the bathroom. Happy anticipation turned to concern when he took in the finer points of the other man's appearance. The legs were still strong and shapely, the ass still sinfully tempting, and seemingly designed solely for the purpose of fitting his hands, but the shoulders were defensively hunched, the head bowed under the torrent of water which was flattening his hair to his skull. Richard's eyes were scrunched shut and the bleak unhappiness of his unguarded face twisted Gerard's gut into a knot.

He'd known Richard was still feeling low, but that it should have got this bad without him noticing - He quietly set down the bottles. "Hi. I did knock," he added when Kimble looked up, dull-eyed.

"I didn't hear you. It's OK." As if only just remembering the soap, which was turning to mush in his over-strong grip, Kimble began to wash one arm in a desultory manner.

"You mind some company?"

Slow to react, Kimble blinked against the flow of water streaming down his face. "I'm not - Uh, that is I'm not in the mood to fool around right now." He looked worn down and defeated. Switching off the water, he stepped out of the cubicle; water and soap suds slid down his body to pool around his feet. A curiously lost expression on his face, he gave no sign of noticing.

"You want to talk to me, Richard?" Gerard asked at last, wary of invading the other man's personal space because he had no sense that he would be welcome. It was the loneliest feeling in the world.

Kimble gave him an untypically vague look. "Sometimes I don't think I can do this any more." His voice low and unsteady, his hands parted in a gesture of helplessness as he took the first step towards the other man. "Sam, I - "

That all the signal he needed, Gerard enfolded Richard in a warm embrace. While he met with no resistance, there was no welcome either, the other man tense and unmoving in his arms. Ignoring that lack of response, he continued to smooth the locked muscles of the strong back with his palms, his lips against his lover's ear. His voice tender, there was a wealth of feeling on his face as he began to wrap Richard around with words of love and encouragement and support.

Abruptly, Kimble drew away. Once free of Gerard's embrace he rushed into speech, his voice so low it was barely comprehensible. "I don't know what's happening to me, Sam." His empty hands moved in a gesture of futility; raw anguish on his face, his eyes were too bright.

Dragging bathsheets from the side of the tub, Gerard tossed them onto the floor and eased Kimble onto that soft nest, before wrapping himself back around his lover, who held on to him as if to a lifeline.

"Jesus, I don't know why I'm being like this about it," Kimble muttered tiredly, not stirring in the comfort of the arms encircling him.

Shaken by the pulses of emotion racking him, none of that fierce protectiveness betrayed itself when Gerard drew back slightly to give him a quizzical look. "Don't you? I could make an educated guess. You're tired. It's been nine days since that bus crash. You've put in too many hours since then. I know how much you took it to heart, but you have to let this one go. You did all you could. It's all anyone can do. Let it go, Richard. Life's for the living."

The arms around him tightened to an uncomfortable degree.

"Just let it go," Gerard coaxed lovingly.

"I can't," said Kimble painfully, as if the admission was being squeezed from him.

"You have to. You have to find your balance again so you can go on."

A quiver went through Richard before, awkwardly, he began to cry into the curve of Gerard's throat. Not for his dead patients, but for the peace of mind lost when he realized how easily Gerard could be killed: how precarious happiness was.

One hand cupping the back of Kimble's head, Gerard began to murmur incoherent words of love again. Huddled together, they remained in a cramped, uncomfortable tangle. It was only when he felt the shudders which racked his lover that Gerard began to enfold him in the sentiments which sounded so natural when they were expressed in Spanish.

Kimble remained where he was long after his breathing had evened out. Eventually he gave a shuddering sigh of something like acceptance. In some odd way he felt better. Purged. Compared to most people he knew the parameters of his life were clearly marked out. All he had to do was enjoy his time with Sam instead of wasting it worrying about all the ways he could lose him. With immense gratitude he soaked up the living warmth of the man who completed him.

"You always did give great tongue," he muttered into Gerard's neck, before he raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and too bright but they had lost that deadened look which had so worried Gerard; in fact they held a faint, wry smile.

"My nose has run down your neck," Kimble discovered. There was a familiar quirk to his mouth as he waited for Gerard's reply.

Turning his head as far as their respective positions allowed, Gerard managed to kiss the tip of Richard's left ear. "You had to go and say that, didn't you. And just when I'd convinced myself it was water."

Kimble gave a moist, unrepentant sniff. "I'm afraid not, Sam." He thumbed away the moisture gleaming on Gerard's skin, then ran the pad of his index finger over the softened mouth. "I don't know what brought that on. Except that I'm so tired," he muttered, as if it was something to be ashamed of.

"I know it. Don't be so hard on yourself. It will get easier. You just forgot that for a while. Take it day by day."

Wiping his face dry with an impatient hand, Kimble resettled himself against Gerard. "Thanks to me, you're soaking wet."

"I'd noticed," Gerard assured him.

"Then take everything off."

Before Gerard could react Kimble began to fumble with buttons and catches and damp, unresponsive denim. All his concentration given to the task, he slowly stripped the other man, then dragged a towel from beneath them and started to rub him dry, although given the heat of the day it was hardly necessary.

Gerard had the sense to let him assume control.

"When was the last time I told you that I love you?" Kimble asked as he held out Gerard's left arm and dried under his armpit.

"This morning when I made you pancakes, but don't let that stop you. The novelty doesn't wear off." Gerard looked expectant, then parted his hands. "Well, come on, Richard."

Linking his fingers with Gerard's, Kimble began a low-voiced mantra, repeating it over and over again; oddly, the meaning never became lost. Eventually Gerard placed his fingertips to the other man's lips.

"Can't take it, huh?" mocked Kimble lovingly. Disentangling them, he climbed stiffly to his feet, then held out his hand and pulled Gerard up. "What was that you were saying to me earlier? In Spanish," he prompted.

Taken aback, Gerard looked vague before he headed for the bedroom and some dry clothes.

Unimpressed by such delaying tactics, Kimble followed him. "Sa-am."

"Was that Spanish?" On this occasion Gerard was slow to dodge. Rubbing his smarting right buttock, he gave his lover a look of reproach.

"Save it," Kimble advised him. "I'll kiss it better later." Watching Gerard rearrange himself for maximum comfort inside a pair of black shorts, he gave a sigh of appreciation. "You in the mood to humor me?"

Gerard gave a resigned nod.

"More enthusiasm wouldn't hurt," Kimble said critically, twitching away the tee shirt Sam had been about to pull on from his hands. "That's the favor. I don't get to see you naked nearly often enough."

He ignored Gerard's snort of derision, but pulled on the old gray shorts the other man loved when Sam made no attempt to put on anything else.

"Have you eaten?" Gerard asked, giving him an approving pat.

"Not yet. I'm not hungry."

Gerard nodded his acceptance. "Feel like watching me eat?"

"It'll be the highlight of my evening."

"A truer word - "

Once they were in the kitchen, Gerard made sure Kimble was kept too occupied chopping vegetables to notice he was being spoon-fed ice-cream until he had eaten half of the pint tub.

Licking away the chocolate-colored moustache he had acquired, Kimble swopped places with Gerard, feeding him the rest of the tub while Sam tended to the pasta and sauce.

All his attention on the other man, it was a while before Kimble noticed that Gerard had served up a large dish of pasta with the simple sauce he had first made for Sam before they became lovers, the top adorned with sprigs of fresh basil. The cheese was busy melting into the sauce, and his taste buds were whimpering with anticipation.

"This, I suppose, is where you try to convince me that you're going to eat all that by yourself?" he said.

Gerard handed him a fork. "I'll race you to the center."

"That's pretty damn childish, isn't it?" enquired Kimble, drawing his chair closer to the table.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "And your point is?"

Kimble grinned and made the first move. Speed of the essence, they had a wonderful time licking specks of sauce off one another later.

 

Busy cleaning his teeth, Gerard rinsed and spat and raised his head to glare at Kimble in the bathroom mirror as the other man flushed the cistern. "What's that grin for?"

"Can't a man smile at the guy he loves?"

Gerard thought about it. "I guess."

Kimble padded over to flick the tip of Gerard's nose. "Stop looking so worried. I'm fine, really. It just got too much for me for a while, that's all. It happens sometimes - not even the worst times - but I'm dealing with it now."

"Who's worried?" countered Gerard.

Kimble just grinned at him. "Come to bed and stop glaring at me," he commanded.

 

Gerard fell asleep quickly, one hand in the small of his lover's back. Relaxed, Kimble remained awake, enjoying this opportunity of watching his lover sleep. The melancholy which had dogged him since discovering how close he had come to losing Sam had dispersed. He wasn't going to waste their time together worrying about what could happen. Remembering that wonderful voice wrapping him around in Spanish love-words, he wondered exactly what it was Sam had said to him. His own Spanish was far too rudimentary to have picked up much. Maybe Maria would be able to translate, because he thought he could remember some of what Sam had said. Kimble grimaced. She was a fine charge nurse but she would tease him unmercifully. Worse, she was bound to guess who had been talking to him. There was no way that she'd keep it to herself - gossiping not from malice but because she loved to discuss people she liked. He'd just have to get that Spanish translated by someone who didn't know them. That time spent in the safe haven of Sam's arms was too precious to be made public.

He pulled a face. Damned if he wasn't turning into a bigger wuss than Sam.

Snuggling closer to his role-model, Kimble tucked an arm over the sleeper and rubbed his cheek against the pillow. When he drifted off to sleep, he was smiling.

He would go to a professional translator.

 

Never one lightly to admit defeat, Kimble wasted no time in trying to wheedle those phrases of Spanish out of Gerard. Receiving no more than a pitying look, he left for work early and spent over an hour in his office with the phone book, ringing around to find a translator talented enough to perform a miracle with the dozen or so words of Spanish he had remembered. Given the translation of a couple of those, he had the feeling his memory wasn't as accurate as he had confidently assumed.

Seeing no alternative, he set out to spoil his lover that evening.

"This is very nice, Richard," mused Gerard, allowing Kimble to wait on him, clear away and stack the dishwasher. "If I was a more suspicious guy I'd figure you wanted something. Whatever it is, the answer's no."

"But you don't know what it is," Kimble protested, stung at having been caught out so easily.

"I know I'm not going to like it."

Kimble set his hands on his hips. "How?" he challenged.

Gerard gave him a pitying look. "If there wasn't a problem you'd just ask me straight out. You want to tell me I'm wrong?"

Kimble sulked for most of the evening. He stopped only when he realized Sam had been too busy talking to Ginny on the telephone to get the benefit. Then the other man came to find him to relate a scurrilous story that Ginny had told him about a presidential aide. They laughed their way into bed and each other's arms, where Kimble forgot all about dignified restraint as they made love. His sense of grievance returned when he woke in the middle of the night but as Sam was deeply asleep beside him, there didn't seem any point in clinging to it.

 

The following morning, remembering it was a Saturday and therefore, technically, a day of rest, Kimble killed the alarm and rolled over. The space next to him was empty. As there were no sounds from the bathroom, curiosity got the better of him. Speeding through his morning routine, he hurried downstairs.

"Hi," said Gerard, turning from the coffee-maker. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed."

"Why?" asked Kimble with suspicion.

"You might give me some credit here," Gerard complained mildly. "I thought we'd pack a bag, take the car and head off into the wide blue yonder for the weekend."

"That would be - Terrific some other time," Kimble ended in a different tone from the enthusiasm with which he had begun. "I'm on standby," he explained in answer to the questioning look he received.

"Figures," sighed Gerard.

"Does this mean I have to fix my own breakfast?"

"No, but you can help. I guess we'll just have to stay here and fool around," Gerard added philosophically.

Kimble grinned. "Now probably isn't the time to remind you, but the maid's coming today."

"What the hell for?" said Gerard, looking aggrieved.

"We asked her to clear the stuff in the spare rooms, ready for the decorators, who are coming back in on Monday."

Looking put-upon, Gerard began to mutter under his breath. Catching some Spanish in there, Kimble swung around, the milk carton in one hand.

"Damn it, Sam. What the hell was it you said to me yesterday? In Spanish," he prompted, when the other man gave him a blank look. "I've tried to remember but it can't have been anything about cabbages. Can it?" He gave his lover a look of the darkest suspicion.

Gerard shook his head pityingly. "That much I will tell you. No, it wasn't about cabbages. You see the benefit of being multi-lingual." The glare he received only widened his grin. "Don't sulk. It makes your bottom lip stick out even more. Which means I'll have to jump you, which in your present mood you won't appreciate and by the time I've kissed you round to my way of thinking I'll be in no state to do you justice."

"Damn it, Sam, I - " Milk flew out in a wide arc as Kimble gestured expressively with the hand still clutching the carton. He studied the resultant mess with a morose eye, collected a cloth and crouched down to mop up the mess.

Sitting on the corner of the table, swinging his legs while he ate a peach, Gerard watched him work for a moment or two then quietly and unemphatically began to murmur the English translation of what he could remember telling Richard yesterday.

His movements slowing, Kimble forgot to clean up the rest of the spillage. Swivelling around, still crouched at Gerard's feet, he sank back on his haunches, his eyes getting wider and wider. It was no novelty to hear he was desired and desirable. But to be told he was Sam's soul's delight was something new. That was the least of what Sam told him. And all of it straight from the heart. His lips parting, Kimble's hand tightened on the carton he had picked up again, unconsciously squeezing it hard enough to empty what little milk it still contained down himself. Staring at his lover, his heart in his eyes, he gave no sign of noticing.

Gerard gently pointed it out to him.

Blinking, Kimble emerged from his dazed state and clumsily rose to his feet. "No one has ever - That's the most - What am I supposed to say to that? What have you left for me to say, except - Oh, come here," he added, his voice so soft and so deep by this time that it was barely comprehensible.

Ignited by what he had been told, he wrapped Gerard in a milky embrace and enjoyed a series of peach-flavored kisses.

"You have no idea how long I've fantasized about this," he rumbled, easing Gerard around.

"I'm getting a few clues," Gerard allowed. More amused than aroused as yet, he made no attempt to resist the other man's urgency. Stripped from waist to knee and bent face down over a hastily cleared space on the kitchen table, he looked resigned when he saw Kimble drag the butter dish closer.

A large dollop of butter already melting on his fingers, the head of his cock tantalized by the flesh it prodded as he leant over Sam, Kimble groaned his disbelief when he heard the front door open.

"Who the fuck - ?"

"Theresa. Here to clear the spare rooms," Gerard reminded him. "Go down to the cellar, I'll head her off."

Naked, and with a hard-on which didn't know when to quit, Kimble straightened with care, his expression strained. Gerard tossed Richard his clothes, before struggling to refasten his jeans.

"Of all the damn stupid times to get hard," he grumbled under his breath.

Even in the throes of passion Kimble was capable of seeing the humor in this. "I'm not complaining."

"Go," Gerard commanded.

Jeans fastened, he drew his over-size tee shirt down until he could be certain its folds would conceal the evidence of his arousal. He just got to the kitchen door as Theresa was about to enter the room. Artlessly blocking the doorway, he engaged her in conversation - never a difficult task.

Talking happily in Spanish, her first language, she brought him up-to-date with the health, educational advances and general well-being of her five children, and the magnificence of her husband, who was a fire-fighter. Seemingly possessed of more energy than Gerard himself, she bustled into the kitchen when he finally stepped aside and immediately began to clear the kitchen table, where mugs and glasses lay on their sides, where Kimble had pushed them over in his urgency. Firmly instructing her to sit, Gerard made fresh coffee. He got up to pour some for Kimble when the other man finally appeared, still looking somewhat flushed, dishevelled and a little tense - as befitted a guy with blue balls.

Theresa immediately switched to a heavily-accented but fluent English. She approved of the smiling-eyed doctor who made Sam Gerard so happy.

"Was getting Theresa to clear the rooms your idea?" Gerard asked Kimble, absently eating dry cereal from the pack.

"No, mine," Theresa told him. "You're busy men. You don't have time."

"We've got the entire weekend. Though I'm in favor of leaving the work to the decorators. Besides, by my reckoning you must be all of five one and weigh in at ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. Whereas Richard here is - "

"Oh, he looks strong," agreed Theresa, sparing Kimble an absent look of appreciation.

Gerard grinned. "Flab," he dismissed, making Kimble choke on a mouthful of coffee. "Go home, Theresa. Have a wonderful weekend with your family. Take next week off," he added. "Richard, pay the lady for the inconvenience."

"What incon - ? "

"Please take it," begged Kimble. "Sam gets cranky when he doesn't get his own way. And this is the least we can do for bringing you out here for nothing." Getting to his feet, his charm was such that she was in her car and driving off without ever being conscious that she was being hustled out of the way.

"You want me back over the kitchen table?" enquired Gerard, from where he was propped against the front door jamb. Struck by a sudden thought, he drifted into the living-room, emerging before Kimble had time to follow him.

Kimble shook his head mournfully. "It has to be spontaneous."

"I guess we won't be needing this then." Gerard tossed the container of lubricant in one hand, dodging when Kimble lunged for it. "Oh no you don't. I'm not in the mood."

"Why you - "

Laughing and tickling and nudging with his body, eventually Kimble got them into the kitchen and manhandled Gerard face down over the kitchen table, which was just where the other man wanted to be.


	6. QUAGMIRE

It had to be the crimson sheets.

The respected, sometimes feared, and right now very naked Deputy U.S. Marshal Samuel Gerard wandered about the large bedroom, humming softly to himself. He switched on the bedside lamp then gathered up the day's clothing, consigning it to the already full laundry basket, all while deliberately not looking at the chest of drawers that housed the bed covers.

Having arranged the room to his satisfaction he gave a smile of anticipation and collected the sheets. He blessed the Summer heat that meant they could dispense with the thick comforter without reducing himself and his lover to a mass of goosebumps and, still humming - though somewhat louder - he began to make up the king size bed. He took his time, carefully smoothing down the soft cotton, arranging the pillows to his satisfaction before surveying the result.

His humming was now interspersed with what could loosely be described as singing, the occasional growl of 'Bad to the bone' escaping his lips.

Nice. Oh, yes. It had to be the crimson. Midnight blue had its moments and ivory had, well, certain practical advantages when it came to _some_ stains and looked great with a tan. But special things happened when they used the crimson sheets.

He pictured his lover - the calm, collected, eminent surgeon - spread across the rich red cotton, not so calm, far from collected. Now, did he want a cool Richard or a sweat-slick salty Richard? Gerard gave a snort of self-derision. Was there really any choice? He went to switch off the air conditioning.

 

Clean shaven and fragrant from his shower, he began his preparations. Droplets of water dried on his shoulders as Gerard ignored the rising (and growing by the second) urge to indulge in a quick appetizer - after the hectic day he'd had he wasn't sure he'd have the energy for that _and_ the main course.

Which reminded him. Where was - ? Ah! There it was. Now where to put it? Well one place was pretty obvious and he'd already taken care of that, but Richard would want to use some, so where to put the tube? On or under one of the pillows would - he stifled a yawn - would be logical. The romantic in him envisioned it wrapped up with a bow, even while he snorted at the very idea. Best not to listen to his romantic side, the last time he'd done that he'd bought the satin sheets. The less said about that the better, though there had been a satisfactory conclusion to that little episode. It had certainly proved there were some advantages to having a doctor as a lover, even if after the initial concern Richard had seemed more concerned about his ass than his admittedly thick skull.

The faintest of groans escaped Gerard. Richard had almost - he'd nearly - Gerard's insides felt as if they were melting. Richard had very nearly topped him. And he'd wanted that so bad -

Gerard gave his dick a brief tug before he realized what he was doing. He used his twitching fingers to rake back his hair instead.

OK. So it had to be the crimson cotton sheets. Tonight anyway. And no pillows, they'd just get in the way.

One might be useful. After the surprise he had planned - and had put into action over a month ago - he was sure to want to show his gratitude.

He spread belly down on the bed and shoved the pillow beneath him. With his ass in the air and no Richard to appreciate the view he felt ridiculous and tossed the pillow onto a chair with the other one. No pillows. If Man had needed pillows, Mother Nature wouldn't have given him knees.

He rubbed his freshly shaved face against the cool cotton, wondering if Richard had found time to shave and hoping he hadn't.

He smiled with impure anticipation and settled down to wait.

 

Kimble pulled into the garage and parked his Corvette alongside his lover's car, as usual leaving five inches when he thought he had left nine. He wasted no time in finding Gerard.

The first thing he saw when he entered the main bedroom was his naked lover sprawled on the bed. After that it was difficult to see anything else, though he did register that there were crimson -

Oh Christ. The crimson sheets.

Kimble's eyes slid straight to his lover's ass. Something glistened.

He took a step closer to the bed, then another, and put out a hand. With a precision and complete concentration appropriate for such a delicate operation, he slipped the very tip of his index finger into slick, welcoming flesh.

The man on the bed made a high, choked sound which sounded suspiciously like a squeak but otherwise remained silent in a boneless sprawl.

So that was how the game was going to be played.

Kimble swallowed, hard, and removed his finger, stepping back from the bed. Working on auto-pilot, having lost the ability to think, his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. He shed his clothes as quickly as was possible given the trembling of his fingers and his reluctance to look away from the sight of his naked lover. He had some trouble with the zipper of his pants but one good hard tug had it rasping open, even if that particular pair of pants would require mending.

The man on the bed remained completely relaxed, except for a brief clenching of the buttocks that made Kimble pause and his cock twitch.

Having rid himself of the annoyance of clothes, Kimble returned to the bed. His knees sank onto the mattress, his hands drifting up the well-shaped calves. Following the long lines of the legs, Kimble reached the soft inner flesh and further parted the thighs. The limbs remained lax, letting Kimble direct them as he would. He bowed his head to relearn with a flickering tongue the taste of the shadowed cleft; Gerard's stifled gasp told Kimble what he needed to know.

He slid over the other man, chest hair brushing against the solid planes of Gerard's back and shoulders, arms propped on either side of his lover, caging him. He licked and nuzzled his way along the wide shoulders, up the neck until he reached a fleshy earlobe. He took it between his teeth, tugging gently then working it between his lips.

Gerard twitched and gave an indistinct groan but otherwise remained perfectly still, his eyes closed.

Given the illusion of making love to a sleeping man, Kimble revelled in the strangeness and eroticism of several conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted his lover reciprocating, but an unsuspected part of him revelled in the freedom to do as he wanted. There was also the challenge of inflaming Gerard so much that he would be compelled to respond, to grow vocal in his demands to be -

Kimble followed the trail south, tracing the dip and ridges of the spine with his tongue until he reached the rise of the buttocks. Beads of sweat began to gather on his brow and across his chest. He sat back to admire the view, his hands taking the scenic route across lightly tanned flesh to the slim valley that invited tongue and adventurous fingers. Knowing exactly how welcome he would be, Kimble leaned down to taste his fill, met salt and spice and essence of Sam Gerard, and lapped greedily at the mix with broad wet strokes. The tongue slid lower, the taste grew tangier, more arousing, overwhelming his already swamped senses. He took a deep steadying breath, releasing it slowly, though shudderingly.

Warm air met the cooling wetness on Gerard's ass and the 'sleeping' man shifted twice, three times against the warmed cotton sheets in unmistakable rhythm before he remembered his role.

Once more in control, Kimble parted the firm buttocks, lips and teeth tracing their velvet curves before his curled tongue reached the puckered opening. His nose wrinkled a little at the taste of the lubricant but he was used to it by now and there _were_ compensations.

Further down the bed Gerard made a sound that someone with a death-wish would describe as a whimper.

Oh yeah. That was one compensation.

Kimble's tongue tip slipped into the slick opening. His cock made the obvious connection and gave a needy throb.

That was another compensation.

Losing himself in pleasure, Kimble's fingers tightened on his lover's ass, steadying the other man when all illusion of unconsciousness was shattered, Gerard pushed beyond his limits. That Kimble had yet to touch his cock didn't occur to either of them.

Kimble drew a steadying breath, took aim, and slid smoothly into his lover. He bit Gerard gently on the shoulder then nibbled his way along the corded muscle until he reached a fleshy ear lobe which he drew into the wet heat of his mouth.

Beneath him, Gerard shivered and tried to arch upward but found himself trapped beneath his lover.

Kimble drew back a little until only the head of his cock was inside Gerard.

There was a soft, choked sound, a harshly whispered obscenity. Then Gerard bucked, hips and thighs working until Richard's cock slid in further.

Kimble nipped Gerard's ear lobe and pulled out again.

"Jesus! You cock-teasing son-of-a-bitch!" Gerard pushed up, panting with the effort as he fought the restriction of his lover's greater weight. "Give it to me, you bastard!"

"Gee, you were awake all this time." Kimble's voice was a deep rumble in his chest as he spoke softly into his lover's ear. "Hi, honey, I'm home."

Gerard felt the vibration of Kimble's voice along his spine, and the echoes raced throughout his nervous system and straight to his groin. He bucked again, his lips drawn back in a fierce smile as he taunted, "Oh, it's only you, Richard."

Kimble reached under his lover to pinch a nipple, hard. "Who else would have their cock up your ass?" His voice was fiercely possessive, the strong thrust of his hips as he claimed the man trapped beneath him adding emphasis to his words.

Gerard gritted his teeth to subdue a groan. It escaped anyway, forcing its way past the barrier, a low sound of pleasure that was loud in the silent room. His voice was a deep-throated purr as he murmured, "I wasn't sure. You see, I never had you figured as a prick-tease." He sensed Kimble getting ready to move back, gathered himself, then surged up to impale himself up to the hilt on his lover's cock.

It was Kimble's turn to groan. Acknowledging defeat, he slid his arms beneath Gerard, hugging him closer and drawing him onto his knees, then began to move against him, hips pumping gently.

Gerard rested his head against his folded arms, content for the moment to let his lover set the pace and do all of the work. "You took your time," he said, his voice a lazy murmur. Kimble's breathy chuckle made him shiver.

"I was enjoying the view. You look good against these sheets."

"Yeah, yeah, that's why I picked them." Gerard gave a soft grunt of approval as his lover thrust a little harder; then stopped.

When Kimble did nothing further, Gerard craned his head round to cast a look of mild annoyance at him. "Jesus, Richard, you gonna get a move on or do I have to finish this myself - "

"That could be interesting."

" - in the bathroom? Alone."

"Sadist." Kimble began to lick his way across his lover's shoulders, pausing when he got to a favorite dip or curve. Since virtually every inch of Gerard had its charms, it was a long process.

"Richard, I know there's slow and easy but even that involves some movement. You gonna do any of the work here?"

"Maybe."

Gerard groaned as realization hit him. "Oh, god, this is going to be one of those all night sessions, right?"

Kimble gave a wicked deep-throated chuckle. "I hope you've been taking your vitamins, deputy."

 

It was some time later when Kimble opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on top of his lover. He rolled onto his side, though more to cool down than out of consideration for Gerard. Between the two of them they were generating a hell of a lot of heat. His eyes swept over the other man. The stab of possessive satisfaction he felt made him smile ruefully. Even now he only had to look at Sam to want him, the spirit more than willing even if the flesh was declaring a holiday.

The evidence of their love-making - dry, sticky and seeping - made his smile widen to a grin. Crimson was not a good color for hiding evidence of certain activities. His lover looked as if he was asleep but Kimble knew better.

"How long you been awake?" he demanded, sifting through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Sam's neck.

Gerard remained with his face pressed against the sheets, so his reply was muffled.

Kimble tugged a sweat-stiff strand of dark hair. "I can't hear you."

Gerard turned his head and gave a sleepy grin as he rolled onto his back with a groan. "About two minutes. I was seeing how long I could go without breathing."

Catching the reference, Kimble gave an unrepentant smile. "I'm sure if I'd been cutting off your oxygen to anywhere important you'd have let me know. You need cleaning up?" he added in a matter-of-fact voice.

Gerard snorted. "I'll live."

Kimble gave an undercheek a firm pinch. "Of course. You're tough guy Samuel Gerard. You scale tall buildings in one bound, eat iron filings for breakfast, and only come when you're ready."

"Two bounds - when I've had my coffee."

"Are you trying to shatter my illusions, Sam?" With a blithe disregard for the sheets Kimble began to clean up his lover.

Gerard yawned, taking such ministrations as his due. "You can deal with the laundry this time."

"OK"

Gerard raised an eyebrow then added, "And make the bed."

"Sure."

Gerard smiled at his lover as he finished up his task. "You really did have a good time, didn't you?"

"With you I always do."

Kimble's voice was very matter-of-fact, almost distracted. Which was probably why it caught Gerard by surprise and sneaked up beneath the ribs to slide home.

It took a few seconds for Kimble to see the glow in his lover's eyes. It was gratifying but somewhat puzzling as he was unaware of what he had said. "What?"

Gerard shook his head, lips twitching with fond amusement. Still smiling, he lay back down, his eyes closing.

Without warning Kimble leaned down and stuck his stiffened tongue into Gerard's ear. The doctor knew enough to retreat at speed.

Gerard's head jerked up and he scrubbed the area dry, his face scrunched with disgust, his lapse into sentimentality over. "You're gross, Richard. Real gross. Save it for my ass, where it belongs."

Resettling himself, he waited for the retort which he knew would be forthcoming. Instead of words, he felt the mattress move as Kimble shifted away from him.

The shocking stab of a forceful tongue piercing his anus made his head rear up.

"Jeez, Richard! Do you have to be so damn literal?"

It was a moment before Kimble's mouth was free for him to make a reply. "Only when it suits me. You want me to stop?"

"Well, since you're in the area - "

Kimble gave Gerard a slap on the rump. "Curve your left leg up more."

Gerard complied, although he felt obliged to point out, "I'll be a lot livelier after an hour's shut-eye."

"Sure you will." Kimble snorted, inadvertently spraying Gerard's ass. Eyeing the saliva dotted over the smoothly inviting skin, he paused to trace his initials in the moisture.

"What are you doing back there?" Gerard enquired, having been unable to account for the movement.

"Just marking my territory."

"Thank God you're not a dog," said Gerard after a moment.

Kimble gave another snort. "One Big Dog in the family is enough."

The use of the word 'family' was almost enough to put Gerard back into mushy mode but he resisted. Yawning, he reached for his pillow, then realized it was still on the chair where he'd put it. Instead, he snuggled his face into a cooler portion of the cotton sheet. Boneless where he lay sprawled across the mattress, legs parted to help him cool down, he drifted along with the light massage to his buttocks and upper thighs. Lately, he had noticed a change to the pattern of their love-making. Not that it was predictable or anything - far from it! But hastily snatched sex before work had become a rarity. Richard had become rather partial to prolonged sessions, pleasuring him for hours at a time. It was also a fact that he had been fucked more times in the past two weeks than the entire month before. It was not something he felt they needed to discuss, having decided that Richard would eventually work through whatever was milling around in that head of his. Besides, he was having a terrific time. He fumbled behind him to pat Kimble's flank with sleepy affection.

Kimble began to stroke his lover's ass with his usual attention to detail.

"You, doctor, are one hell of an optimist."

Kimble leant down to lick the undercheek, making it twitch. "You have a real nice butt, Sam."

Gerard smiled, happy to let his lover play with his body. "That's a wonderful bedside manner you have there. I hope you don't use it on your patients."

"Just deputy marshals."

"Then I better tell Cosmo and Noah to keep their distance."

"What about Poole?" Kimble teased, tracing down the cleft of the other man's buttocks.

" _Especially_ Euphemia Poole," Gerard said, knowing his female deputy's weakness where the doctor was concerned (his ass at any rate). His breath caught as Kimble's fingers became more adventurous. "You know you're wasting your time. You're a doctor, not a necrophiliac. Least, I hope you are," he added, his voice rich with amusement.

Kimble surged up over his lover's back, murmuring in his ear, "Careful what you say, Sam. I know your weakness." His voice dropping to a whisper he added, "Remember your navel." He latched onto an ear and with a well-founded confidence worked the lobe between his teeth in a way he knew his lover could not resist. At the same time he reached for the velvet weight of Gerard's scrotum, massaging his testicles, twining the coarse hairs and tugging on them gently.

Gerard's teeth sank into his forearm as he stifled a groan of pleasure.

Unseen by the other man, Kimble gave a wicked grin and softly began to sing, 'Deep in the Heart of Texas' while he sank an adventurous finger into his lover's body.

A moment later Deputy U.S. Marshal Gerard was writhing face down on the mattress.

To the lovers' mutual surprise there was an unexpected uprising in the South.

Union was inevitable.

 

The following morning Kimble opened his eyes to find Gerard peering down at him, an expectant look on his face. Kimble blinked then yawned, his normally bottomless well of energy thoroughly drained by his exertions of the night before. It was a few seconds before he realized Sam was expecting him to spring out of bed. He considered the idea, found it beyond the realms of possibility, and closed his eyes as another yawn ambushed him. Abruptly his mouth was full of tongue and he remained relaxed, mouth and anything else open for Gerard to do with as he pleased. He gave a regretful sigh when Gerard moved away.

"Come on, Richard. Rise and shine."

Kimble gave him a look of disbelief. "It's Sunday, Sam."

"Gee, I guess that's why you got into medical school. There's something I want you to see. I meant to show you yesterday but - "

"You fell asleep?" Kimble recognized with a sleepy grin.

"I got a little - " Gerard gave a crooked smile and shrugged. "I fell asleep," he agreed. When Kimble turned onto his side and looked ready to go back to sleep he slapped him on the ass. "Now, Richard."

Knowing that for Sam to be so insistent it must be something pretty important to him, Kimble stirred into movement. "I'm up. I'm up," he muttered. Staggering out of bed, he lurched toward the bathroom. He livened up a little as he urinated, which was just as well as Gerard was in close range. Kimble eyed his lover blearily, wondering how many cups of coffee the other man had drunk in order to get so lively. "Did we switch places in the night and I haven't noticed yet?" he enquired.

"It's a possibility. You ready now?" asked Gerard, depressing the flush for the other man.

Kimble peered down at his naked self then at his lover. "What do you think?"

"I think I best make some more coffee," said Gerard, who was enjoying seeing the tables turned.

Following the other man into the bedroom, he watched with fond amusement as his clever and highly-respected lover tried to pull on a pair of shorts and nearly keeled over when the effort of balancing on one leg almost proved too much for him.

Giving Gerard a cold look, Kimble turned his back on him and tried again, with little more success. The muffled snort from behind him spurred him into one final effort and he finally pulled on the shorts without falling over.

"A lesser man, a man like yourself, would take advantage at a time like this," mused Gerard. "I should torture the hell out of you," he patted Kimble's shoulder as he wandered past, "but where's the sport when you're this easy a target?" He sighed and looked noble. "I guess I'm basically too nice."

His only answer was a snort followed by the sound of Kimble brushing his teeth.

 

After breakfast and several cups of coffee, Kimble was looking reasonably bright-eyed if not exactly bushy-tailed. Gerard's obvious anticipation had done more to wake him up than caffeine and carbohydrate, the very air about the other man seeming to crackle. Sam went on ahead, his long legs eating up the ground with an easy grace that drew the eye. In fact, Kimble was so busy enoying the view that it took him a moment to realize where Sam had led him. He saw the woodshed - then he saw why Gerard was looking so pleased with himself.

Gerard opened the door of the new brick and wood extension, his gaze concentrated on Kimble's face. Now that they had reached their destination he was looking self-conscious although the air of anticipation was still there.

"Perhaps now we can have the gym back," Gerard said. The tone was dry, the face deadpan, but it was belied by the sparkle in his eyes. He was obviouly pleased with himself and was clearly waiting for his adoring lover to tell him how clever and marvellous he was so he could look suitably modest. He'd had a hell of a time keeping this little project a secret but it would be worth it - just as soon as Richard reacted.

Some time soon would be nice.

Kimble's face was still frozen as he entered the building. Beyond speech, he turned full circle, staring at everything he saw, his wondering gaze trying to take in everything there was to see. The scent of wood was so strong it was almost overwhelming, the different smells merging into one wonderful whole. It looked as if Gerard had ordered at least a dozen different kinds of wood. There were workbenches to do it justice and every conceivable tool, everything clearly of the best quality. There were glues, resins, stains and waxes. Space for a man to make whatever he wanted. Light, heat, plenty of power points. There was even a music system and kettle jug, he noted, his throat tightening with emotion.

Gerard was starting to look concerned. "You do like it, right?"

Kimble's mouth opened, closed, then opened again but the words refused to come. No one had ever taken so much notice of what would give him pleasure, then set about providing it.

"Whatever I got wrong can easily be changed," continued Gerard, certain he must have blown it by this time.

It was at that point that Kimble came to enough to go over to the other man and wrap himself around him until Sam could scarcely breathe.

Feeling warm air and soft lips against his neck, ear and jaw as Kimble murmured incoherencies, the strong arms threatening to crack his ribs, Gerard gave a single nod. "Yeah, you like it, " he recognized. Satisfied, he pulled Richard even closer.

***

 

The humidity yet to build to an unbearable level, it was a beautiful morning. The amount of bird song gave the illusion that they were living in the middle of the country, dappled sunlight spreading across the yard through the foliage of the trees.

More than half-asleep where he sat slumped in the corner of the porch swing, Gerard started when a hand touched his bare shoulder.

"Coffee?" asked Kimble. Taking the vague mumble for an assent he went back into the house.

Returning to the porch a few minutes later, he placed a large mug beside Gerard, having ascertained that he was awake first. "That should help."

Having been called out just as they were going to bed the previous night, Gerard's expression begged to differ but his nostrils twitched as he caught the aroma of coffee. After a couple of cautious sips he showed some faint signs of life. He livened up even more when he realized Richard was wearing only his jeans, which were covered with wood shavings.

"You've been in the workshop," Gerard noted, both amused and pleased by the time Kimble was spending in there.

"You got me," sighed Kimble, resigned. "I stopped by to loosen up those clamps and got side-tracked."

"That's a novelty."

"Hey, you're the one who bought me that workshop. Jesus, Sam. It's the best present ever." His face warm with affection, Kimble kissed the top of the dark head. "Welcome home. You caught up with them?" he added matter-of-factly.

Gerard nodded and stretched out his legs in front of him. He gave a soft sigh of contentment as he squinted in the sunlight which was now bathing him. "My, it's a pretty morning."

"Mmn." Having become aware of the scratches and bruises Sam was sporting, Kimble squatted on his haunches and began to make a thorough examination of his companion. When Gerard flinched away from a probing touch, he frowned but to his relief confirmed that none of Sam's injuries were serious. "Couldn't you let your kids collect the bruises next time?" he enquired, moving to sit beside his lover.

Gerard peered down at himself, looking faintly surprised by the amount of color appearing on his body. "Boy, no wonder I was sore. That's a good idea. Though they'll need my two left feet. I collected these when I slipped on a slick of mud and hit a few tree stumps on the way down the slope. I did better than Cosmo," he added, his voice rich with amusement. "He met a skunk. No prize for guessing who won."

Still crouched in front of Gerard, Kimble began to sniff in a pointed manner.

"Relax, I'm OK," Gerard assured him. "We made sure Cosmo stayed downwind of us and travelled in a separate car. Is there any more coffee?"

"I suppose you think I'm going to wait on you," said Kimble with resignation.

"You have so far," Gerard pointed out, arching his flat belly as he made himself more comfortable. One arm went around Kimble's shoulders in an absent-minded sort of way. "It's great to be home."

"Even if you've only been gone fourteen hours." Setting the seat in motion he gave Gerard a lop-sided smile and added, "And twenty minutes. One advantage of you going away is when you come back."

Gerard thought about it. "That's either very profound or one of the dumbest things you've ever said," he mused, one knee bent where the flat of his foot rested on the seat edge.

"No prizes for guessing which," said Kimble ruefully.

"You need to go to work?"

"Barring emergencies, no. I'm free as a bird this weekend."

"Excellent. Then I guess we'll just have to fool around." Turning on the cushions, Gerard unfastened the button at the waist of Kimble's jeans, then eased down the zip, unsurprised to discover his lover was naked beneath the worn denim.

"You've got the energy to make love?" Kimble gave him an incredulous look.

Gerard grimaced. "I wish. But that's no reason why you can't improve the scenery and walk round naked, is it."

"I guess not. I suppose you think that - " Kimble gave a resigned sigh and got to his feet. "Who am I kidding." Without further ado he shucked off his jeans, leaving himself naked except for his wristwatch and St. Christopher.

Gerard gave an appreciative sigh. "Oh yeah. You're one fine-looking man right enough. Well, I'll be damned," he added blankly, before a grin of pure delight fanned out, deepening the laughter lines on his face.

"What?" demanded Kimble with a belligerence which imperfectly concealed his untypical embarrassment. "You took me by surprise," he growled defensively.

"Of course I did," soothed Gerard. Cupping that wonderful ass in his large hands, he nuzzled the tender skin just above the pubis, taking care that his stubble shouldn't abrade the skin of the beginning-to-stir dick.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," joked Kimble, his hands curling over his lover's shoulders for support.

Gerard eased him even closer, so that when he spoke his lips moved against the other man's skin. "You want a blow-job? I've no objections to having you for breakfast." He watched Kimble's body continue to rise to meet him, offering damp breath and encouraging licks.

Kimble slid the side of his thumb over a flat pink nipple, circling the aureole, just before he delivered a sharp pinch. Gerard's 'umph' of surprise went straight to Kimble's groin. The doctor was happy to see that he wasn't the only one to react physically.

"I don't think this is going to be as one-sided as you assumed," he murmured, bending to investigate his lover's possibilities.

"Me neither," Gerard conceded, torn between smug satisfaction and surprise.

 

Leaving his enervated lover sprawled limply across the cushions scattered across the scrubbed wooden deck, Kimble wandered into the house to prepare breakfast. He returned with a tray laden with food, the morning post precariously gathered under one arm.

Giving Gerard a gentle nudge with his bare foot, he watched the dark eyes open and smile up at him, softened by love and warm with a reminiscent pleasure. Happy to take the credit for helping Sam to unwind, Kimble dragged a small table over to the swing and set the tray on it.

Slowly getting to his feet, Gerard gave a leisurely stretch, muscles moving sleekly under his tanned skin, before he made himself comfortable on the swing and drank his juice, fishing out an orange pip halfway down. He flicked it in Richard's direction.

"That proves it's fresh," Kimble pointed out serenely. Pouring them both coffee, he began to separate the envelopes and packages he had collected from the mailbox, crumpling junk mail as he went. He tossed what were obviously bills between Gerard and himself.

"I can see to these when I catch up on my paperwork Monday morning," he offered.

"Thanks. I'm going to be facing a sea of paper. Is this coffee new?"

"Yeah. The shop only opened a couple of days ago. I called in on my way home yesterday. It's good, isn't it. Are you sure you don't want to go to bed?" Kimble added, when he caught Gerard mid-yawn.

"Positive. I tried to catch some sleep when I first got home but some damn bird started tweeting. The next thing I knew the sun was in my eyes and you're leaping out of bed like you're auditioning for some breakfast cereal commercial."

And?" said Kimble, knowing his man.

Gerard gave a philosophical sigh; he'd given it his best shot. "And I have a meeting at eleven and I need to go in and check on a few details first. I should be through by early afternoon. I can sleep then."

"Good," said Kimble, sounding as brisk as was possible given that he had a mouthful of croissant. "You need to get your energy levels up."

Gerard gave the man now standing above him a pensive look from beneath his lashes. "I hoped I'd been energetic enough to keep you satisfied," he said quietly.

Kimble stared at him with total consternation. Seconds later, he was crouched in front of Gerard, hands on his thighs. "You know you're everything - You son-of-a-bitch," he amended as he belatedly caught on to what Gerard was doing. He mimed a swipe at the side of his grinning companion's head. "Nice try but definitely no cigar. I nearly fell for that," he complained with a trace of indignation as he pushed himself to his feet.

"I noticed," said Gerard smugly.

Kimble shook his head sadly. "You used to be such an honest man."

"I've been taking lessons from you," Gerard explained. "So what am I going to need all this energy for?"

"There's no need to look so suspicious. There isn't anything horrible lurking in the shadows," Kimble told him, seating himself on some cushions at Gerard's feet and using his shins as a bony backrest while he continued to sort through his mail.

"That's what you said before you had me clearing out the storm drain," Gerard pointed out.

"As I remember it, you volunteered."

"As I remember it, I was suckered," retorted Gerard, sharing out the last of the coffee between them as Kimble opened an expensive-looking envelope.

"Uh, Sam. Remember me promising you there was nothing horrible I expected you to do?" Kimble's tone was ultra-casual.

"Relax, I didn't believe you. Tell me the worst," Gerard invited.

"I promised Jake I would attend a charity auction on Wednesday. Black tie," Kimble added with gloom.

"Bummer," sympathized Gerard. "Can't you just give them a cheque?"

"Don't tempt me. It's Jake's pet charity."

"And he suckered you," recognized Gerard. "There is some justice. The biter finally bit."

"Go ahead and gloat," said Kimble with resignation. "Then haul out your tux."

"Why me?" asked Gerard with a trace of indignation.

"Because I need a partner and you're it. You did say you'd support me at hospital functions," Kimble reminded him.

"I don't remember saying that."

"I do," Kimble said firmly, before he turned to give his lover a jaundiced look. "For a guy with such a good memory for detail it's amazing how you manage to forget the things you don't want to do."

Getting to his feet, Gerard gave him a pitying look. "There's nothing amazing about it. Simple self-preservation, that's all. Have you seen my shorts? These cushions are making me itch."

"Here." Reaching out at full stretch, Kimble retrieved them and tossed them up at him. "Hey, stop scratching, you'll make yourself sore."

"I'm already sore."

"So turn around and let me see. Don't give me that suspicious look. I hardly need an excuse to stroke your butt, now do I?"

"There is that," Gerard conceded, doing as he had been told.

"I thought this might be the problem," said Kimble, caressing the afflicted area in a highly unprofessional manner. "Don't blame the cushions. It's stubble burn." He rubbed his chin. "I forgot. Sorry. You should have said."

"I might have if you'd left me with the breath for it," returned Gerard as he drew on his shorts, rearranging himself for maximum comfort. "Just how boring is this black tie evening likely to be? On a scale of one-to-ten?"

"About nine and a half," Kimble conceded with reluctance.

"Boy, you're some optimist."

Checking out the food on the tray, Gerard tested the ripeness of the melon with his thumbs. Giving a nod of satisfaction, he cut it in two, scooped out the seeds with his fingers and stuck a spoon in the fragrant orange flesh. Passing one half of the melon to Kimble, he took the other for himself.

"I could write them a cheque," he offered.

His mouth full of succulent melon, Kimble's look of bliss turned to a long, hard look of displeasure.

"It was just a thought," said Gerard, uncowed. Having finished the fruit, he unscrewed the top of the jar of low fat smooth peanut butter, absently scooped up a finger full and ate it with evident relish.

"When did you last have a decent meal?" enquired Kimble, knowing how driven Sam could be when he was hunting down a fugitive.

Receiving a vacant look and a shrug, he poured cereal into a bowl, added milk and sliced a banana over it before handing it to Gerard. "Use your melon spoon."

"I don't want - "

"I'm not interested. Eat. You're too skinny."

"That's not what you said earlier."

"I had a hard-on earlier."

"I remember that part," Gerard assured him. But after his first tentative mouthful he decided the cereal was worth finishing. He went on to eat three croissants, a cinnamon ring, two pears and a handful of apricots.

"I was hungry," he announced, sounding faintly surprised.

Because he wanted Sam to do him a favor Kimble swallowed the obvious retort. "It would have been so great if you could have come with me," he said sadly.

"Spare me, Richard. I'm impervious to that look of pathos." Seconds later Gerard ruined the effect by adding, "Do I have to go?"

Shaking his head, Kimble gave a resigned grin. "Of course you don't. It's going to be hellish. Besides, given the way we attract media attention every time news is slack I can't blame you for not wanting to be seen with me." He paused to fish a suicidal fly out of his coffee.

The fierce look Gerard shot at him softened when he recognized his lover was serious. "You're a moron," he muttered gruffly. "Are you sure you've thought this through? You'll be coming out in front of all the people who knew you when you were - " He faltered, then stopped.

"Straight?" supplied Kimble, taking pity on him.

"Well, yeah."

"In case you hadn't realized, you're not exactly my dark secret. Everyone I work with knows. No one else matters." Receiving a look of open skepticism, Richard had the grace to look abashed. "Well, not much." Gerard continued to look at him. Under that pressure Kimble crumbled in under thirty seconds. "OK, I'd like you there for immoral support. A lot of people who thought I'd murdered Helen are going to be there and I really don't want to go. But I promised I would."

"I suppose I'll be expected to be polite to them, too."

Kimble nodded. "Charm would be even better."

Gerard gave one of his quick, shark-like grins. "You concede I have some then? All right, we'll go and be charming together. I can but hope for a mass break-out that'll get me called away. Can we at least arrive late and leave early?"

"No, we'll be boringly responsible. Then we'll come home and I'll be your sex-slave for the rest of the night. Anything you want, Sam."

That soft, deep velvety voice stroking his senses, Gerard gave his lover a look of glaze-eyed reproach. "You lousy son-of-a-bitch."

"Just checking I haven't lost it," said Kimble smugly.

Gerard nudged him gently on the chin. "No danger of that." The sun glinting on the face of his watch caught his eye and he grimaced. "Damn, I need to get cleaned up and go into the office."

"I could drive in with you. As you're not going to be long, I could see to a couple of things, then collect you after your meeting. We could have a late lunch. We haven't done that in an age."

"Then you'd best come and clean up, too," pointed out Gerard, rubbing the side of his thumb over the dried semen flaking on his lover's belly.

***

 

The charity auction was not a success from Gerard and Kimble's point of view, the majority of the attendees the sort of people Gerard would have gladly paid to avoid.

The whispering began the moment he and Richard arrived, gaining momentum as the evening progressed. Wearing an urbane smile which soon made his face ache, there was an angry glitter in Gerard's eyes. Women claiming to be friends of Helen Kimble had come on to him with varying degrees of subtlety. Others - of both sexes - had posed questions, veiled and direct, so impertinent that it had required some effort to pretend to misunderstand them. There had been small pockets of decency - Jake and his wife, some old friends of Dave Vidal's, who had known him since he was fourteen - but they weren't enough to take away the taint left by supposedly civilized people.

From the jut of Richard's jaw and his thinned mouth and hunched shoulders, Gerard could only imagine some of the comments his lover had been subjected to; people had been eager to separate them whenever possible.

"OK, you were right, I was wrong," said Kimble tightly, as Gerard drove them home.

"That isn't the issue here," said Gerard, becoming aware of the immensity of anger his companion was reining in and wishing he knew how to set it free.

"Isn't it?" returned Kimble.

Despite the various efforts Gerard made, that was all Kimble would say about the evening. Feeling closed out, Gerard tried to dismiss his vague feeling of unease, comforting himself with the thought that he and Richard always managed to talk through any problems. Eventually. But every time he tried to broach the subject Richard cut him off, a warning edge to his voice. In many respects it would have been a relief if he had lost his temper and lashed out verbally; there was something unsettling about this chilly control. With a lurch of unease it occurred to Gerard how rarely Kimble lost that.

***

 

Gerard's concentration, when he applied himself, was formidable, but eventually he became aware of the unusual lack of noise around the office. Glancing up from the report he had been reading, he saw the number of people clustered in the doorway of the media room. They seemed to be watching one of the large TV screens. Catching enough to gather a news broadcast was showing, curiosity got the better of him. Setting down his pen, he padded over to see what was holding everyone's interest.

Standing unnoticed amongst the deputies and clerical backup, Gerard's relaxed expression hardened. Why hadn't he been told this would be going down today? Fifteen executive directors of the pharmaceutical company Devlin-MacGregor had just been charged with attempting to pervert the course of justice, corruption and - bizarrely - tax evasion. They were the same executives who had given their head of security - Frederick Sykes - his alibi for the evening he had murdered Helen Kimble.

The press were going to be after Richard like maggots after meat.

Out for blood, and he wasn't inclined to care whose, Gerard turned back when he heard his lover's voice coming from the television. The press hadn't wasted any time in seeking comment from Doctor Kimble. To the rest of the world the photogenic doctor probably looked slightly bored. Because he knew Richard so well, Gerard recognized the other man's pressured look and the dread in his eyes as the press crowded around him in the hospital car park.

One question triumphed over all the others.

"So how does it feel to discover a major pharmaceutical company was involved in the death of your wife?"

Kimble gave the journalist a look of wary distaste. "I discovered Devlin-MacGregor was implicated in Helen's death when I found her murderer. I'm surprised - and disturbed - that it should have taken the authorities so long to reach the same conclusion. Particularly given how easy it was for me - as an amateur - to collect the evidence." Bitterness echoed in his voice as the relentless stream of questions gathered momentum.

Only then did Gerard realize how much covert interest he was attracting from his people. His dark gaze scoured the group, a faintly contemptuous twist to his mouth. He had expected better of them. "If no one has any work to do I'm sure I can find you some. Lenny, any joy on that report?"

The television was flicked off, the office back at work in under a minute. Prowling around, checking up on various routine matters that could have waited, Gerard tried to ignore his sense of being under surveillance. Only half his attention on what he was doing, he couldn't stop worrying about Richard. Eventually, he picked up a stack of files, took them into the media room, and pointedly closed the door behind him. Once alone, he flicked on the TV, checking on the local news while he continued to work. Richard looked harassed, hounded and contemptuous; beneath those, he looked tired and unhappy. His heart aching for the other man, and ashamed of his inability to protect Richard from this shit, Gerard rearranged the two meetings he had been due to attend and got ready to go home.

His jacket on, he was heading for the stairs when the call came in that a Dr Sean Wallace had escaped from a prison bus en route to hospital for treatment. Ice running through his veins, Gerard listened to a summary about their latest fugitive. The doctor, a pathologist, had been sentenced to death for the murder of his wife and two children. For a few seconds Gerard lost the ability to think. That this case should break now, while the press were already focused on Richard. And with a wife-murdering doctor on the run, pursued by the marshal's office -

Jesus.

The press were going to have a field-day, he accepted, his expression bleak. And right now Wallace was headed for Tennessee. With no intention of leaving Chicago while Richard was being hounded by the press, Gerard gave the case to Poole to head. His trust in her total, he left her to select the team of deputies she wanted. As he had expected, she took his best people.

"You need anything else, you call me," he said, fidgeting with a pen because his pent-up energy demanded some release.

"Sure thing." Her tone soothing, Poole kept her manner low key. She was under no illusions why she had been given this case - or what it was going to cost Sam to stay behind.

"Well go, go," said Gerard, shooing her away with the approximation of a smile, but the effort it required showed.

"Can I have a word with you first, Sam? In private. It won't take long." Touched, Poole saw the focus of his concentration narrow until it was directed solely on her for the first time.

Gerard called up his secretary, speaking to Poole as he did so. "Sure. We'll grab a coffee. Jenna, Poole's taking the Wallace assignment. Hold all calls. She'll be free in five."

Once they were in the tiny kitchen, he gestured for Poole to sit. Pouring them both coffee, he added milk and remembered just in time to add sweetener rather than sugar to her mug. "What's the problem?" he asked quietly.

"The press will go to town on the Wallace case."

"So?" he said impatiently. "I'll keep them off your back till you get a result, then you can take over."

"That was never in doubt," she said, equally impatient. "Given that you'll be the one holding the daily press briefings, you'll be a sitting target."

"Nothing new in that," Gerard dismissed.

"I know. But some smartass hack will connect Dr Wallace with the last doctor this office pursued - "

Gerard's expression closed because he hadn't anticipated an invasion of his private life from this quarter.

Poole refused to be intimidated. "Richard's already in the news with this thing with Devlin-MacGregor. It could get ugly," she added gently. "Given that it's common knowledge that you and Richard are lovers, and that you're living together, I thought I should mention it so you're prepared for the stuff they're going to throw at you."

The ferocity of his unblinking stare softened. Pinching the bridge of his nose, for a moment Gerard's mask slipped. "Thanks for the reminder. I hadn't got that far. It wouldn't do for me to go and deck a journalist."

"Well, not while you're on camera, anyway," she smiled, keeping it light as he wanted.

"Don't tempt me," he said with feeling.

Patting him on the shoulder, Poole left the kitchen so he could have a few moments alone, and so she could make the final preparations before catching the plane which had been booked for her team.

***

Renfro and Newman were trying to catch up on the paperwork resulting from their thankless escort duty to the West Coast when Newman glanced up in time to see Gerard emerge from the press room. Oblivious to being under surveillance Gerard crossed the open-plan office, obviously heading for the kitchen. It was then that Newman saw the most graceful and physically assured of men bump into the door jamb.

Immediately on his feet, Newman headed across the room; only when he found Renfro at his side did he realize they had both been watching Sam. Spotting Marie heading for the kitchen, and knowing that she had never quite come to terms with not being able to have every man who took her eye, including the boss, Newman ran interference. While he kept his social life far from the workplace some lighthearted flirting which no one took seriously kept the wheels oiled. Giving the older woman his full, flattering attention, by the time they parted company some of the lines of discontent had eased on her face, a new spring in her step as she returned to her desk.

Propped in the kitchen doorway, facing outwards, Renfro shook his head at the younger man, but with more admiration than sorrow. Newman's gaze slid past him, into the kitchen. Gerard was alone; motionless, while his profile gave little away, there was an impression of a man totally drawn in on himself. Looking back at Renfro, Newman raised his eyebrows in silent query; Renfro shook his head.

"I still can't figure out why sitting on our asses all day is more tiring than chasing cross-country," said Newman, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation. "You want a coffee?"

"In a minute," conceded Renfro.

Newman glanced back over the older man's shoulder. Gerard had picked up one of the polystyrene cups; when he poured himself some coffee his hand was visibly unsteady. Patting Renfro on the shoulder Newman began a mild-voiced commentary on their day as they went into the kitchen, greeting Gerard and then continuing without waiting for any acknowledgement.

"Hey, the day was dull enough without you boring Sammy as well," Renfro said, turning to the other man. "You should have shut us up. What you still doing here, anyway? What with the Wallace case and trial of the Devlin-MacGregor people you'll be wanting to keep regular hours so you can be with Richard. If you need to take leave I'll cover for you. It's not a problem. Now go home."

Looking paler than usual, as if he had received a shock, Gerard nodded. Concern was emanating from Cosmo and Noah in waves; rather than offering comfort, all it did was scrape his already raw nerves. But he managed not to snap at them and made his escape as soon as he could.

He was halfway home before he gained a sense of where he was; after that he tried to apply all his concentration to the drive but it was impossible not to wonder why Richard hadn't contacted him; impossible not to worry about what the press might have said to him.

The media were waiting outside his high security gates as Gerard slowed the car. Press and television, with more lights and cameras and hurtful, probing questions for which he had no defense, let alone answer. Repeating 'No comment' like a mantra he watched in the mirror as the gates close behind him. Rounding the first curve in the drive he stopped the car and got out to stare blindly into the middle distance.

Jesus.

And this was just the beginning.

 

Kimble was propped in the door jamb of the back door, staring into the yard; he turned with obvious reluctance when he heard footsteps behind him. Gerard eyed him with a wary concern, aware of the suppressed anger the other man was exuding.

"Richard, I - "

"Not now," said Kimble shortly. Pushing himself from support he headed out into the yard.

"No," murmured Gerard to the emptiness.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he propped his head in his hands and tried to think of something - anything - he could do to help the other man.

After the third obscene phonecall he switched off his cellphone. It was only then that he noticed Richard had already disconnected the house phone. Flexing his tension-locked neck and shoulders, he went upstairs to shower and change but he felt no fresher when he came back downstairs. Because Richard did not reply when he called out, it took him some time to track the other man down; he was in his office, sitting in front of a blue screen.

"We should talk - " began Gerard.

Kimble swung around from his monitor. "Not you, too. Between the press and - I've talked enough for one day. Or do you want my reactions, too? Do you have any idea what it's been like?"

"No, but I can guess."

"I don't think you can."

Gerard took an indrawn breath and tried again. "Have the hospital administration - ?"

"Leave it!" Only then did Kimble actually look at the man in front of him, his inimical expression easing. "How much have you had to put up with?" he asked with unwilling concern.

"What does that matter? I'm fair game."

"Since when?" demanded Kimble with renewed ferocity. "What have you ever done to deserve the kind of shit they must be dumping on you?"

"Like it or not, I'm a public figure," said Gerard colorlessly.

"You're a deputy marshal. Get one of the others to brief the press."

"I can't do that, Richard. If I do it's an admission of defeat."

"And the opinion of the press matters?" demanded Kimble incredulously. There was a flick of contempt in his voice.

"An admission of defeat to you," said Gerard quietly. The other man's capped anger was like a door being slammed in his face.

"I hate this so much," Kimble burst out, his fierce gaze on something only he could see.

Flinching, Gerard seemed to forget how to breathe for a few seconds. He stood so still that the flicker of the pulse under the thin skin at his temple was pronounced, a muscle in his clenched jaw jumping. "I know you do," he said finally, emotion pressed from his voice. It was noticeable that he avoided looking at his companion. "A lot of what's happening is my fault."

"How the hell are you to blame?" dismissed Kimble.

"The investigation into Devlin-MacGregor should never have taken so long. That company is a billion dollar monster and we both know the power that kind of money commands. It was a political hot potato, given some of the names on the board of directors. The FBI pussy-footed around, trying not to step on any high-profile toes. As a result, the investigation has taken almost three years."

"What's that got to do with you?"

"Thanks to Dave Vidal I have the kind of connections to push things through. I should have used them."

"While that's debatable, why didn't you?"

Gerard's mouth twisted. "I was too busy trying to forget you."

Remembering the relentless pressure the media were imposing, the obscene phonecalls and the stares of strangers and acquaintances alike, or worse, their polite attempts to hide their recognition, Kimble's face was a mask of bitterness when he thought of what he had let the other man in for.

"Maybe it's a pity you didn't," he said, too preoccupied to be aware of the potential for misunderstanding. "I'm going for a drive. Don't wait up." Brushing past the man stranded in the middle of the room, he left without noticing Gerard's devastated expression.

 

While Gerard had gone to bed he was still awake when Kimble finally returned home in the early hours of the morning. Lying in the darkness, listening to the effort Richard made not to disturb him, cowardice stopped Gerard from telling him that was unnecessary. He remained awake for long enough to hear Kimble muttering in his sleep.

A quiver of pain rippled through Gerard when he finally identified that Richard was saying Helen's name over and over again.

***

 

One consequence of the media pressure was a marked increase in the hate mail which arrived at the house. Kimble tried to dismiss it from his mind but couldn't; he'd already attracted one obsessive who had tried to murder Sam. It terrified him that it could happen again and this time he might not be so lucky. This time he might lose Sam to them.

All Kimble's fears for the other man which he had thought he had come to terms with, came crashing in on him. Unconsciously he resorted to the self-defense mechanism which had kept him sane after Helen's death and his conviction for her murder - he began to shut down his emotions.

His withdrawal had nothing to do with being afraid or feeling defeated, he was to angry. The press were trying to return him to the status of victim and he could find no way to stop it, let alone find a way to handle it. Emotions damming up behind emotions, his overriding fear was that he would lose control and take it out on Sam. He took to avoiding the other man because when they were together he caught himself lashing out verbally at him. And while he hated himself for doing it, he didn't know how to stop.

***

Missing the old ease he and Sam had shared so much that it was a physical ache, Kimble nerved himself to try and break through his self-imposed barriers. Yawning his head off as he entered the kitchen, he began to make coffee while trying not to notice when Sam's mouth thinned before he silently hung up the phone and disconnected it from the socket.

The number of nuisance calls was increasing. If he had his way he'd pursue the fuckers and - But Sam preferred to ignore them.

He looked terrible; the toll the pressure was taking engraved on his face, he was acquiring new angles, every line on his face accentuated in merciless detail. Kimble ached to go to him but he could feel the anger bubbling inside. It would be such a relief to hit something. Someone. Anyone but Sam.

Preoccupied, Kimble added milk to his companion's coffee.

"Richard?"

The puzzlement on Gerard's face rushed Kimble into telling the unvarnished truth. "I wasn't thinking. Only Helen used to take milk and - " He had the belated sense to stop.

His eyes stricken, the ghost of Helen Kimble looming large, Gerard managed to nod his understanding. Turning away to rinse out his mug, he took his time over the task. Feeling clumsy and awkward, he was overly aware of the gaze burning into his back, certain Richard resented his very existence. He fought the urge to apologize for being himself. For not being Helen. For what had happened to Richard. For the part he had played in it. For the fact he was breathing. Foundering in insecurity, he was desperate for reassurance.

"If you can spare the time maybe you could call in the office and we could have lunch?" he suggested, his tone as casual as he could make it. It would be good to be able to present a united front to the world.

Kimble stared at the broad shoulders in disbelief. Walk into Sam's office and hear more whispering. Risk rounding on one of Sam's kids and ripping them apart, verbally if not physically -

"I don't think so," he said. "Maybe some other time." His voice held the polite insincerity reserved for encounters with representatives from drug companies.

His head bowing, Gerard's hand tightened over the wet mug as he listened to the sounds of Richard leaving the room. The front door closed, later came the roar of an engine before he drove off.

Wheeling around, Gerard's arm lashed out, sweeping crockery from the table. The relief was fleeting, the extent of the mess inordinate. Taking a steadying breath he slowly cleared away the debris and began the painful process of locking down all his inconvenient emotions.

***

 

Human interest reports about the effects of the draught which had swept a vast swathe of the country kept the media busy for almost a week but people were cranky enough as they moved from air-conditioned building to car without needing reminding of their physical discomfort. Local interest heightened in the unsuccessful hunt for the wife and child murdering Dr. Wallace. Since 'The Silence of the Lambs', charismatic psychopaths had caught the imagination of the public - until they began to work too near home.

The failure of the Marshal's Office to recapture Wallace kept the media spotlight firmly on Gerard. Because he had so little news to give at the daily press conferences Howard insisted he hold, the media made what they could of the little they had - filling in the gaps with comparisons with the Kimble case and the piquant situation of the ex-fugitive living in homosexual bliss with the man who had hunted him down and tried to kill him. Pop psychologists wrote articles about the phenomenon, agony aunts predicted the limited duration of the relationship and gay activists offered their support to the besieged couple. For Gerard, the worst moment came when an out-of-State TV evangelist visiting Chicago to boost his ministry, and thus his revenue, began a public campaign of prayer that both men would see the error of their sinful existence and return to the ways of righteous homophobia.

Gerard found it harder and harder to walk into the press room, the ritual flaying each afternoon leaving him with little protection. Most of the senior reporters with whom he had established a professional relationship over the years were on vacation and he was dealing with the second and third stringers - those desperate for any story with which to make their name. Getting a rise out of the notorious stonewaller Sam Gerard was the closest they were likely to get at the height of summer, a traditionally slow time for news. The inexorable - and public - drip of innuendo and speculation found every chink in Gerard's armor. He tried not to notice how some members of his department would stop talking when they saw him approaching, or the attention he attracted at the local deli, or the bar used by members of his office. Open hostility would have been a relief, an excuse to relax his grip on his temper; what left him feeling painfully exposed was the sympathy emanating from his best people.

***

 

Feeling emotionally raw after a difficult press conference, and then trying not to react to some appallingly invasive questions about his relationship with Kimble, Gerard headed for home and the comfort of his lover's presence.

Kimble was slouched on the couch, one ankle hooked over his knee while he watched the game, a bottle of beer in one hand. He gave no sign he had heard Gerard come into the room.

"Hi," said Gerard quietly, bending to kiss him because he needed that reassurance.

Kimble slid from under his hands and got to his feet. It was then that Gerard saw the expression on his lover's unsmiling face; the eyes were angry and hostile - as if Richard had forgotten his very existence and resented being reminded of it.

Icy with shock, Gerard couldn't move and for several seconds seemed to forget how to breathe. The muscles of his face ached with the pressure he was exerting on them. The poison had done its work. Richard was wondering what the hell he was doing living with the guy who had tried to kill him.

"Did you want something?" Kimble asked, an unfamiliar edge to his voice.

Torn by conflicting emotions, Gerard caught hold of Kimble's forearm.

"Don't," said Kimble in a tight voice, dragging himself free immediately. He tensed, as if he expected physical violence.

A lost, wary look in his eyes, Gerard firmed his mouth but it was longer than he cared to think about before he trusted his voice. "Richard, we have to talk."

"What about?" It was the antagonistic face of a stranger.

"I don't know what to say to you any more," began Gerard, the words escaping of their own volition. That plea was the last thing he had intended to say: needy, full of self-pity, and terrified. Which pretty much summed up how he was feeling.

"About what?" Hard-eyed, Kimble's chin was raised, his shoulders back in aggressive mode.

As if he was facing the enemy, recognized Gerard. Forcing muscles to relax, he parted his hands, leaving his body open and undefended and lowering his gaze. Unconsciously absorbing the other man's submissive body language, Kimble's hands unclenched.

"Devlin-MacGregor," said Gerard quietly.

"Why? Or do you want my reaction about the trial, too?" savaged Kimble. "Give me a break. Can't this wait, I'm trying to watch the game here." He turned back to the television without noticing his companion flinch.

"Right," said Gerard.

Stranded, he couldn't think what to do at first. The commentary blaring out because Kimble had increased the volume, he stared blindly at the back of his lover's head. The solid ground of their relationship had become a quagmire and - untypically - he had no idea what he could do to put things right, becoming increasingly afraid that it was beyond his power. The seeds of destruction were in their past. However you colored it or tried to pretty things up, he had done his damnedest to kill Richard.

While he might be able to forgive it, how could Richard ever forget that?

He tried to convince himself it was ridiculous to believe Richard blamed him for what the press were putting them through but everything that happened reinforced his fears, insecurity eating away at him. Shut out in the emtional permafrost, he longed for the support which never came.

***

 

"Jesus, don't you ever give up? Just keep away from me." Locked in tangled dreams of an opportunistic cellmate, Kimble was already on the other side of the bed, sinking back to a level of sleep where he was unaware he had spoken aloud.

Jolted awake by the elbow in his ribs, Gerard gave a shaky exhalation as he became aware of his erection. They must have slid together in sleep. To have moved from delight to disgust in so few weeks. Not knowing what else to do, he remained where he was, listening to the lover who had just rejected him mutter his dead wife's name with increasing distress. The instinct to offer comfort to that despair was so great that Gerard forgot to be wary; reaching out, he touched the shoulder turned to him.

"Richard, it's - " The words froze in his throat when Kimble turned to give him a look of such loathing that it made him feel physically sick.

Turning away, lying on the very edge of the huge mattress, Kimble was back asleep within seconds.

Counting out the minutes, Gerard waited until he was certain Richard had calmed before he eased himself from the bed. Shivering despite the heat, he pulled on the first clothes he found and retreated as far as was possible, down to the gym. Knowing what he would see on his face, he avoided his mirrored reflection.

 

***

 

Kimble had come to dread the nights even more than the days. Getting to sleep wasn't a problem, stress-induced fatigue ensuring that he slept so deeply that he found it unusually difficult to get up in the mornings. But when he slept he dreamt that he was back in the penitentiary during those early days immediately after his arrest for Helen's murder. Every night he relived his inability to save her. Or worse, because he had never really come to terms with it, how close he had come to losing Gerard when the other man had been kidnapped by the men Jenny Turner had hired.

His sleep broken by nightmares that left him starting awake with his heart racing several times a night, he could hear himself snapping his way through the day. Never quite taking it out on his patients, he made everyone else's life a misery. One of his nurses had even requested a transfer.

He hated this. Himself. Hated what he was becoming. But he couldn't find any other way of dealing with the anger which every day came closer to breaking free. He coped with the pressure by taking on a punishing workload at the hospital to compensate for the gaps in his schedule now he wasn't lecturing. He lacked the patience for remedial work during the summer vacation.

As always he clamped down on the anger, increasingly afraid that he would lash out at Gerard, who made too easy a target. Even worse was the fear that somehow the media's invasion into their private lives would tarnish what Sam felt for him. It was only now, when he faced the prospect of losing it, that he appreciated just how much he relied on having Sam's respect. To lose his good opinion, would be unbearable. To lose Sam himself should have been unthinkable, yet it was coming to seem increasingly likely.

The bad dreams intensified; terrible dreams where he failed to protect Helen. Or dreams of prison, at night; of lying, sweating, on his bunk, trying to mourn for the wife he had been accused of murdering; of the whispered threats, obscenities, moans, whimpers and screams that had filled the night, loud enough to penetrate even his fog of grief.

And he dreamt of arriving back at the apartment he had shared with Helen, always too late. Never understanding how it was possible for anyone to believe he could have killed her.

Yet a part of him had believed he had; still did. He was guilty: for failing to stop it from happening; for failing to get home in time; for failing to keep her alive; for failing.

Haunted by memories, not least of those dangerous first days in prison, Kimble failed to appreciate the extent to which they were infecting his waking hours. Unconscious of what he was doing, he began to shy away from even mundane physical contact with Gerard, keeping conversational exchanges to a minimum because he didn't know how to apologize for what was happening to them.

This was all his fault. He was the reason the media had destroyed Sam's privacy, placing him in the public eye for the world to speculate about his every emotion.

And he dreamt about Gerard. Dreamt over and over again that he burned to death when the van his kidnappers were driving crashed. He heard Cosmo telling him that the burned-out wreck containing three bodies had been found, one wearing Sam's gun. Once, he woke to find he had been crying in his sleep as he relived the agony of believing he had lost Sam Gerard.

***

 

Staring out into the darkness, listening to his lover's distress but not daring to go to him after so many rejections, Gerard placed his forearm over his eyes as he fought for control as the broken voice continued its slurred mumbling.

"Sam - no - the gun."

Jesus.

Richard must be reliving that chase through the spillway. Or maybe the lockup. God knows he hadn't forgotten either occasion himself. The press had seen to that. Easing away to the edge of the mattress, Gerard remained awake for the remainder of the night, afraid to fall asleep in case he unconsciously sought out the warmth and welcome he had taken for granted until it was denied him.

The width of the bed between them, he wondered how it was possible to feel so lonely while lying beside the man you loved more than anything else. In his naivety he had supposed they would turned to each other in times of trouble, but in the last few weeks Richard had made it obvious he had nothing to offer. In any way.

***

 

Shocked awake by a flailing blow which caught him on his right cheekbone at the same time he received a kick to the flank which narrowly missed the erection tenting his shorts, Gerard wasn't given time to react.

"Jesus, you're disgusting. Just give it up," snarled Kimble, putting the width of the mattress between them before he subsided, face down on the pillows. The sheet twitched up over his shoulders and he was back asleep in seconds.

Blinking rapidly, Gerard concentrated on controlling his breathing. The right side of his face throbbed where Richard had caught it but that minor distraction was no relief from the pain of Richard's rejection. Only now that the physical contact was denied him did Gerard realize how often he and Richard would touch, not just for sex, but for the simple pleasure it brought. It was hard to accept that pleasure could turn to revulsion.

Hearing the softest of snores issuing from the man on the far side of the bed, Gerard glanced to where Kimble lay. It was unlikely that Richard had been fully awake when he lashed out. He probably wasn't even aware of what he had done.

And if he was?

Gerard's mouth tightened. What the hell was he thinking? That much he was sure of.

Richard wouldn't.

 

Aching and tense and feeling more tired this morning than he had last night, Kimble walked into the bathroom, stopping dead when he saw it was occupied. Gerard, naked except for his shorts, stood in front of the sink. Appalled, he watched Sam flinch when he registered his presence, then pause in the act of shaving, the foam which covered his face masking his expression.

"I didn't know you were here," Kimble blurted out, his hand tightening over the door handle, which gave a creak of protest at the strength he was exerting.

"I'm almost done," said Gerard, his voice flat.

Feeling very naked, even though those mirrored eyes weren't on him any longer, Kimble bundled into the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and immediately began to feel too hot. But he kept it fastened because more than anything else he wanted to wrap his arms around Sam and hold on tight. And if he touched him he'd want to make love and right now -

Right now Sam deserved better than he could offer.

About to retreat, Kimble froze when he saw the trail of scarlet slashing through the shaving foam, blood running down the strong neck where Sam had cut himself. Needing to reassure himself that the injury was minor, Kimble padded to his side. To his relief he saw that Gerard had somehow managed to nick the lobe of his ear, the flow of blood already slowing

Achingly conscious of Kimble's warmth and the gaze seemingly intent on tracking his every movement, Gerard concentrated on not cutting himself again. He made no attempt to break the silence. His control was rewarded when Kimble began to relax to the point where he handed him a towel.

"Thanks." Conscious of how long it had been since Richard had sought him out Gerard was wary of driving him away again because he didn't know what he had done the first time.

Kimble was frowning. "You look tired." He sounded accusing.

Gerard shrugged. "I've had a few bad nights."

"Me, too," said Kimble unguardedly as he soaked up the fact Sam was alive and not burned to death in that van wreck.

Gerard forgot his good resolutions about taking things slow when he saw the lost look in his lover's eyes. "You've been having nightmares."

Kimble looked down. "Some," he acknowledged with reluctance, willing Sam to let the subject drop.

"About me?"

The anger began to seethe under the surface. "Maybe. Look, Sam - " Kimble's throat locked when shaving foam was flicked away to reveal the purple bruise swelling on Gerard's cheekbone. He knew beyond doubt that it hadn't been there last night and his eyes widened with the fear he had almost managed to push away. He was losing it.

Gerard stared at the reflection of his lover's face. The last time he had seen the other man look at him like that Richard had been standing over Nichols' body wondering if Gerard was going to shoot him.

"What is it you dream about? Of me hunting you down. In the spillway? Or is it the lockup when I tried to kill you?" Gerard asked, his voice harsh.

"Why, are they favorite memories of yours?" retorted Kimble, caught on the raw. Only then did he recognize that Gerard had expected that response. He stared at him aghast, but had to wait a moment or two before he trusted his voice.

"I can't believe I just said that - to you, of all people," he whispered.

"Try," said Gerard, brushing past him to leave the room.

By the time Kimble had the wit to got after him Gerard was dressed and had left the house.

 

Resolutely pushing to the back of his mind the memory of Sam's expression, Kimble applied himself to getting through another day. Running late on his rounds, all his attention was on the file he was reading as he hurried to Mrs O'Donnell's room and so he never saw the sign warning of wet floors. Swerving to avoid a crash cart as it rounded the corner, he slipped and automatically threw out his free left hand to save himself.

 

Kimble stared moodily at the backslab cast encasing his left arm from his knuckles to just below his elbow.

Of all the fucking stupid things to do this took the prize. Toddlers gave themselves a Colles fracture. Old women. And klutzes.

Thanks to him falling over his own feet he was out of surgery for a minimum of six weeks. More, if he was realistic. He'd need physio once the plaster came off, and to work at getting his fine finger movements back.

Still, at least he would be able to work again.

Stupid, stupid accident. And at a time when he had no students. There were his post-op. patients, of course. And that was it.

The analgesics they'd insisted he take had distanced the pain to some far away place; he would feel worse tomorrow. In a week's time, unless he did something really dumb - dumber - the plaster would be no more than an inconvenience.

And Sam - Kimble grimaced. The last thing he needed was Sam fussing around him. Or the press getting wind of this. The next thing they knew the media would spot Sam's bruised face, his broken wrist, and be writing about the dangers of abusive relationships.

Jesus.

The only reason Sam was bruised was because he'd hit him. He just didn't remember anything about it, and that scared the crap out of him.

The anger roiling within him dangerously close to spilling out of control, Kimble glared at his office wall as he paced the room. He had to get away. So he could get control before he hurt Sam more than he had already. Not ready to think about the stricken look he had brought to Sam's eyes only this morning, his mind sheered off on another tack. There must be something he could do. Something out of town. Some lecturing maybe. He reached for the telephone, looking for anything that would give him the chance to escape.

Salvation came when he spoke to his opposite number at Cook County. Due to fly to Philadelphia tonight, to begin a ten city, twelve day lecture tour, Doctor Geiger was desperate to remain in Chicago because he was having problems with his child. He didn't even pretend insincere sorrow at Kimble's accident, just kept repeating his thanks for Richard coming to his rescue, and rashly promising him anything he wanted.

Arranging for the necessary paperwork to be couriered to him, including Geiger's speeches, and grateful the topics were those he had spoken on only two months previously, Kimble made the necessary arrangements with the hospital administration and his surgical team. Everyone's thinly-veiled relief was the first indication he had that he might not have been handling the pressure of the last few weeks as well as he had assumed.

Unable to drive safely at present, Kimble took a cab home and hurried indoors. He was whistling as he began to pack. The subject-matter of the tour was interesting, the venues frankly luxurious and some of the other speakers known to him from the conference he had attended in Seattle. It was going to be terrific. Like a paid vacation.

It was only when he was waiting for the cab to arrive to take him to O'Hare that he remembered Gerard knew nothing about his accident or plans. Toying with his phone, he lost his nerve. There would be all kinds of difficult explanations and he really didn't have the time. Besides, Sam was probably too busy, presuming he was even in the office. Equally he couldn't just leave without a word. Muttering under his breath, he paused to scrawl a note for his lover.

 

It was late by the time Gerard ran out of excuses and had to go home. The house was in stifling darkness, the air-conditioning off. With a sense of foreboding he checked the garage. Kimble's Corvette wasn't there. Their bedroom showed clear signs of disturbance; a number of Richard's clothes, together with two bags, were missing.

His legs leaden, already knowing what must have happened, Gerard checked the rest of the house, slowing with each room he came to because it avoided the moment when he must accept the truth. He had known it could only be a matter of time before Richard left him but had allowed himself to hope. The letter Richard had written for him had fallen from his desk to rest beside the waste basket.

 _I've had enough of this, I expect you have, too.And even if you haven't I still have to go.  
I'll call if I've forgotten anything important.  
Richard._

Instinctively crumpling the page, Gerard took several long breaths, then tried to smooth the paper. His fingertips moved infinitesimally before they flattened against the desk top as he read and re-read the short message, absorbing the cruelty with which his lover had severed the ties which bound them. Richard wasn't an unkind man; that he should have been so brutal only proved how hurt he had been.

Some time later Gerard discovered he was sitting in the kitchen, although he had no memory of going downstairs. Truth be told, he didn't remember much at all.

His eyes blank and dark, he stared into the void. He had always known what he risked by loving Richard so completely but he had no choice, it was the way he was and if the rewards were great, so too was the payment. He had told himself he would be able to handle it. Some joke. He wasn't handling any of this, least of all the fact he had driven Richard away.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Until the press had pointed it out it had never occurred to him that Kimble might be afraid of him.

His gut spasmed. He got to the john just in time, the bout of vomiting threatening to tear him apart.

Eventually the nausea passed. Aching and cold despite the humidity, Gerard tiredly made his way back to the kitchen. Shivering as he went into mild shock, although he failed to recognize as much, he slumped onto a chair, propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in hands that shook.

Big Dog had a nervous stomach.

Some joke.

Maybe he should share it with the press. They seemed to know everything else.

Bile bitter in his throat, Gerard lurched back to the john, racked by dry heaves.

When the phone went the following morning Gerard snatched it up, only to set the receiver down with unnatural control a few minutes later; it was another obscene call. With the same control he went around the house, yanking the wires of the land phones from the wall sockets, before destroying his cellphone. Then he just stood, listening to the silence. Trying to accustom himself to it.

 

He swerved to avoid an elderly man, his pace barely slowing, never losing sight of his quarry until those using the hallway of the lockup should have moved to give him clear sight of his target. Pausing to take aim, he fired between the closing security doors and saw the terror in the wide eyes, just before Richard collapsed, blood soaking the front of his shirt. The body twitched once then was still.

Galvanized, his heart racing, Gerard lurched from the bed, barely awake enough to be mobile. In the pitch darkness he wrenched open the closet doors and walked inside to bury his face against the jacket of one of Richard's suits.

It had been a dream. Just a dream.

The suit he had his face pressed against had just returned from the cleaners and offered no comforting scent of its owner. Flicking through the hangers Gerard found a battered brown leather jacket Richard wore when he and Kathy used to go to the game; he held it to him as he sank to the ground, waiting for the images left by his dream to fade.

Richard was alive. He had to be. But the fear crept closer with every day that went by without word from his lover.

Even while inhaling Richard's scent Gerard's pulse continued to race, sweat slick on his skin until he was in danger of hyper-ventilating. It was only then that he realized he had taken refuge in the last place suitable for someone with claustrophobia. Shakily emerging into the bedroom, he walked straight out of the room, heading as far away from it as possible. He must have been crazy to think he could sleep here, but the sheets were the sheets Richard had slept in, the pillows the pillows Richard used and he had blindly submerged himself in the scent of the lover who had left him.

Going out onto the porch, he slumped onto the swing-seat he had watched Richard make. It was then, in the sleepless hours before dawn, that Gerard tried to accustom himself to the idea that the other man wasn't coming back.

***

 

That was the last time Gerard tried to sleep in the bed and room he had shared with his lover. It was hard enough to enter the house where every inch of it resonated with the sounds of their months together: the brown velvet of Richard's voice, the sounds which escaped him when they made love, when he came, laughed, muttered abuse at players while he watched a game on TV. He had begun to make his physical mark on the house, the rooms decorated to reflect both their tastes. Gerard took to sleeping on the too short, lumpy couch down in the gym but there was little rest to be found there, the mirrored panels mocking him with unwanted reminders of happier memories and reflections.

Unable to sleep, he spent the rest of the night taking down the panels but sleep was just as elusive the following night, and the night after that.

 

Desperate for rest, Gerard lay on the couch, listening to the thump of his pulse, every inhalation and exhalation, the growl from his belly, which was protesting about the ingestion of too much caffeine and not enough food. Beyond himself he could hear no sound but those made by an uninhabited house.

He was coming to hate the place.

He had lived here since he was twenty-five, content with the solitude which had been broken by lovers who had passed through, though none had left their mark. Except for Richard. He wore Richard's mark like a brand that went soul deep, relearning his sense of loss every time he returned home to find the house empty.

Even with the air-conditioning on high the gym felt airless, the walls, now devoid of their mirrored panels, seeming to close in on him.

Richard had only been gone for nine days. It felt as if he had been gone forever. Everything seemed more of an effort and without point; he was drifting but could find no way to care. He had absolutely no idea where Richard was, except that he hadn't left the country; his passport was still in his desk drawer. He could track Richard down in an hour; had come close to initiating the routine hunt for a man who wouldn't have thought to cover his tracks on this occasion. It wasn't pride that stopped Gerard, but the fact that Richard was entitled to make his own choices without interference.

And Richard had chosen to leave him.

In some respects Gerard felt like an amputee, staring at a bleeding stump where a limb had been, waiting for the agony to begin. Most of the time all he felt was a blanketing numbness. The other times were different, but he had learnt that pain made the emptiness no easier to bear.

Work helped. Usually August was pretty quiet but this year between vacation and injury time and the varying calls made on them the department was at full stretch. Untypically, Gerard remained in Chicago - in case Kimble should try to contact him. Not that he had. Although for a while he had allowed himself to hope that the woman they had supplied to replace Jenna after she had been injured in an automobile accident was forgetting to pass on messages from Richard. She certainly forgot to pass on anyone elses. Poole and her team seemed destined to remain a constant one step behind Wallace, two other high profile cases ensuring that Gerard had to brief the media every day. And every day they found some new way to invade what little privacy remained to him, picking over the bones of his relationship with Richard. Achingly conscious of the irony, Gerard maintained a firm grip on his emotions, avoided those who knew him best, and tried to find a way of getting through this.

The nights were the hardest. Sleep something he had taken to avoiding, Gerard worked in the grounds by the light from the security lamps until exhaustion set in. Then, switching off the lights, he would sit on the porch swing Richard had made, the humidity of the night air pressing against his skin as he stared into the darkness, unable to think of anything but the times when they had been happy.

***

 

The Ferrari slewed sideways in front of the house told Kimble that Gerard must be home. Grinning with anticipation, because during the last ten days of his twelve day trip he had missed his lover more than he would have thought possible, Kimble paid off the cab, tipping the driver lavishly. The humidity enveloping him like a clammy blanket, he began to sweat before he started to ferry his bags into the house. Because he had bought presents for Gerard in every city on the tour, he had acquired three times the amount of luggage he had left home with.

Home.

It was definitely where the heart is, Kimble decided, grunting at the weight of the largest case. It must be the one with all the books he had bought for Sam; he should have spread the load. Inhaling all the familiar smells that meant home to him, he paused to catch his breath, wondering where Gerard was. Then he relaxed. Sam was probably catching up on some sleep.

Tanned and relaxed, the lecture tour had provided just the break Kimble had needed to give him a perspective on the pressure the press had imposed on his relationship with Sam. While it was trite, there was truth in the cliché that if he had Sam the rest of the world could do what the hell it liked. If they kept a low public profile things would quieten down - he chose not to remember how impossible Sam's job made it for him to avoid the press. It was time for them to get on with their lives.

Kimble pushed aside his unease that he hadn't actually spoken to his lover during the last twelve days. It wasn't for want of trying. Worried when Sam hadn't rung his hotel, he had called him every day. Sam must have disconnected the landphone to the house and changed the number of his cellphone, forgetting that without the new number he had no way to get through to him. Every time he had rung Sam at work Sam had been out - although whether at meetings or on the trail of some fugitive the assistant had declined to say. As no one he knew had been around to take a message he'd had to leave them with Jenna's stand-in. She had sounded efficient enough but it worried him that Sam hadn't called him back.

All his luggage finally stacked at the foot of the stairs, Kimble closed the front door and leant against it, the anticipation which had been making his eyes sparkle replaced by guilt and the doubt he had successfully pushed to one side while he had been away.

What if Sam wasn't asleep? What if he was still pissed with him for going off, leaving only a letter behind him? Kimble knew how he would have felt if their positions had been reversed; it just hadn't occurred to him at the time. Taking a deep breath, he headed upstairs.

His frown deepened when he failed to find Gerard; their room didn't look as if it had been slept in for days. Sam was in none of the ground floor rooms, yet the air conditioning was on, the back door unlocked. About to go out into the yard, Kimble remembered that he hadn't checked the gym and headed down the steps at breakneck speed.

Breathing more heavily than his short bout of exertion warranted he stood over the couch, relief coursing through him as he stared at the sleeper. Sprawled face down on the seat cushions, the definition of his ass accentuated by the curve of his left leg, Gerard's foot was twitching, as were the lax fingers of his right hand where they brushed the floor.

Soaking up the wonderful sight of Sam alive and well, Kimble's smile faded as he caught the low murmur of the impossible to distinguish mutterings. Sam was having a nightmare. He knew how tired Gerard must be by the mere fact he was still asleep; in normal circumstances he would have woken when Kimble had entered the house. Because it was impossible to stand back and witness that distress without trying to alleviate it, Kimble crouched onto his haunches. Softly saying Gerard's first name, Kimble lightly stroked the tense back muscles through the loose-fitting tee shirt the other man was wearing over some baggy jeans.

His reaction time sluggish, Gerard started awake but stirred only fitfully; the effort it required was obvious. Raising his face from concealment, his features blurred with sleep, he blinked repeatedly.

To Kimble, waiting for some reaction, it seemed to take forever until Sam recognized him. For a split second Gerard's face was lit with pure joy before that was covered over by a guarded wariness.

Desperately trying to orientate himself, Gerard pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his gritty eyes. Richard was staring at him with the grave, kind look of a decent man about to perform some unpleasant but necessary task.

Gerard began to feel sick. Richard must have come back for the rest of his belongings. He would have one chance to try to persuade him to stay but could think of no convincing reason beyond his own need. He'd given the relationship his best shot and failed. Love hadn't been enough and he didn't have anything else he could offer. Inwardly garnering his defenses, he tried to prepare himself. It was his responsibility to keep it civilized. None of this was Richard's fault.

Disconcerted by the lack of welcome, Kimble forgot whatever it was he had been about to say. Pushing himself up from where he had been crouched, his smile died from lack of nourishment. Feeling faintly sick, he reminded himself that Sam had cause to be mad at him.

"It's - uh - kind of late. I should have left this till morning," he mumbled, avoiding the other man's gaze because he was afraid of what he might see. "I'll go see to my stuff."

This the moment he had lived through in his imagination time and time again, Gerard watched Kimble leave the room. Even after the doctor had vanished from sight he continued to stare after him before he gave a sardonic snort. He had almost convinced himself that if he was patient Richard would come back to him. That Richard should be here only to collect his belongings was suitably ironic. It was just a pity he wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and wishing he felt ready for this encounter, Gerard checked his watch: ten p.m. Unless he could manufacture a miracle Richard would be gone by eleven. And he was all out of miracles.

On automatic pilot he began to fold up the bedding he had been using while he slept in the gym. There was no point staying here any more. Richard could have the house. He had always loved it, and he had made it his own. He would be safe here. Grabbing the end of a sheet, Gerard pulled, remembering too late that it was the one he had used to cover the huge mirrored panels he had stacked against the wall. From a distance of only two feet he met his own reflection, staring into the starkly drawn face of a man who was about to lose everything.

And abruptly it was too much. He couldn't bear the sight of his naked misery. Not in the place where he had known such bone-melting pleasure, and so much quiet happiness, watching his lover working-out, or busy making both versions of the porch swing.

Swooping down, Gerard scooped up a light set of weights from the rack. Using it like a hammer, he struck the glass with all his strength. But the angle of impact was off and the mirror merely spidered out in a web of destruction.

Breathing like a wounded animal, the weight still trailing from his hand, Gerard stared at the multiple images of himself before his face twisted. That fucking mirror saw everything. He was about to raise the weight again when he heard a voice behind him.

"Sam, what the - ?"

Still staring at the myriad broken images of himself, Gerard saw Kimble's reflection appear, first in the mirror, then directly in front of him; so close that he caught the drift of Richard's cologne. Not the one he was used to, but perhaps that was just as well.

The waves of emotion Gerard was emitting were almost shocking in their intensity. Kimble reached out a tentative hand, then lost his nerve. This man needed more comfort than he felt capable of giving - worse, he didn't know what had brought Sam to this, and of all people he should have known. The sense of his own failure burned like acid and he took an involuntary step away.

The movement seemed to rouse Gerard from his abstraction. He straightened, the weight slipping to the floor.

The clang it made took Kimble by surprise and he flinched.

"You're afraid of me?" His voice breaking, it was a moment before Gerard could go on, the horror of the realization etched on his face. Pain bled from his too bright eyes. "I would never hurt you."

Appalled by the other man's air of fragile control, Sam looking as if he was being pulled apart by forces too great for him to bear, Kimble stared at him.

"It never occurred to me that you might," he said gently. When he found out who had done this to Sam he would kill them.

Gerard gave no sign that he had heard that reassurance, or noticed the hand extended to him. But because his courage was of the unspectacular kind he forced himself to meet Richard's eyes.

"Don't go. Give me another chance. I know I must have screwed up big time but I can learn. Just give me another chance. I swear I'll do better this time. I'll do anything you want, anything that's necessary. I just want to make you happy. I could go to counselling, whatever - " Gerard's roughened voice had speeded up, sentences tripping over themselves so that it was hard to distinguish what he was saying.

That panicked stream of speech tearing him apart, Kimble wrapped himself around the man stripping himself of pride. There weren't the words to describe his feelings. This was real fear, and it ripped through his every defense. He had reduced this proud, strong man to begging; had made Sam believe he was somehow at fault. He tried to interrupt the flow but Gerard couldn't seem to stop, seemed unaware of the arms holding him.

"Please don't leave me, Richard. Not again."

Realizing Sam had somehow come to believe he had deserted him, it was then that Kimble found his tongue.

"What have I done to you? I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I'd have to be crazy to want to leave you. I love you so much. And you make me happy. So happy." He wiped away the moisture tickling his cheek without realizing what it was; all his concentration was on his lover. "I never meant to hurt you. Not before I went on the lecture tour, not now. I'm sorry, so sorry. I love you. More than I know how to say. I swear I didn't leave you. But you must know that. Didn't you read my letter?"

A shudder went through Gerard. Short of using force there was no way of stopping him from stepping away from the embrace.

"I read it," he said in a dead voice.

"Oh." Afraid of making matters worse, Kimble felt his way with care. "I rang you every day - well, your office. I couldn't get through to the house. When you didn't return my calls I figured you were mad with me for going off at such short notice. And for my not discussing it with you."

His arms unconsciously wrapped around his torso, Gerard gave the other man an incurious look. "I didn't get any message. I couldn't have called you. I didn't know where you'd gone." There were no extravagant displays of emotion, just a flat-voiced statement of fact. But pain echoed in the large gym nevertheless.

"But I listed every - " Kimble's voice trailed away at the expression on Gerard's face. "Sam, I left you an itinerary with all my flight details, hotels, phone numbers, faxes - I hoped you might be able to swing some time off, or at least fly out at the weekend. I just wanted us to have some time together - away from the press."

The uncertainty and hungry longing to believe in the dark eyes twisted his heart because Kimble knew the responsibility was his. While he had never intended to hurt Sam he had been too focused on his own pain to think of anyone else - and Sam had paid the price. In retrospect Kimble couldn't remember much about the last few weeks - and nothing about the man in front of him. Tunnel-visioned, he had avoided human warmth and contact as much as possible; it had required more effort than he had felt capable of making. Instead of turning to Sam he had turned his back on him.

He settled his hand over Gerard's forearm and felt the muscles locked there. "Sam, I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. But it made me so mad when the press tried to turn me into a victim again. The unrelenting pressure and the questions really fucked with my head. I wanted to hurt something. I wanted someone to pay. Then I woke up one morning, saw your swollen face and knew what I must have done. That scared me. Because I didn't know how to deal with it. I've been so angry and I don't know how to release it. I certainly couldn't talk to you. Not while you wore a bruise I'd inflicted. So I grabbed the opportunity for some time away. To get my head straight. It wasn't anything you'd done, it was me."

Exhaling softly, Gerard slumped against the wall of the gym for some much needed support. Richard's words sinking into him like sunshine, the chill which had encased him since the other man had left began to thaw so fast it made him dizzy. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I understand. It's all right," he said, because he wouldn't burden Richard with the truth.

"No," said Kimble flatly, "it isn't. If it was 'all right', if I'd been the kind of lover you deserve, the kind you have the right to expect, you would never have been able to believe what you did. When you needed me most I failed you and - " He fought to steady his voice, then retreated back to easier ground.

"It's obvious you never saw the itinerary but I don't understand how you could believe I'd left you for good. My letter explained everything. I wrote pages. Everything I'd been too gutless to explain in person and - "

"It was a note. Three lines."

Taken aback, Kimble stared at him. "But that's not the one I - In your office, right?"

"No, yours. On the floor."

"Fuck," breathed Kimble, and it had the sound of a prayer. "I wrote to you in mine. I must have dropped the last page as I went out. I was kind of rushed by that time. This note, can you remember what it said?"

"I think so," said Gerard with no discernible irony, as if the message wasn't etched on his heart.

As he quoted it verbatim, he was heading for his office and so missed the range of expressions which crossed Kimble's face: comprehension, pain, regret, but above all, love.

While Gerard's desk was clear, an envelope with his name scrawled across it had slipped to lie between his chair and the desk.

"It's not like Theresa to miss that," frowned Kimble, saying the first thing that came into his head.

"I gave her a vacation. I didn't want anyone around," added Gerard, his gaze remaining on the envelope. Richard was home. It had been a misunderstanding. He needed time for that to sink in, not to read this. Glancing up, he caught Kimble's expression and realized he had to - for Richard's sake.

"Read it in comfort in the kitchen. I'll fix us some coffee," added Kimble, his voice a little too bright as he tried to find a way back to normality. He wished he could remember exactly what he had written.

"Sure," said Gerard. Dauntingly contained, he followed the other man from the office to the kitchen, where he sank onto a chair at the table. Despite his slouch and outstretched legs he was all locked-down tension and guarded eyes.

"No coffee for me," he said as he watched Kimble begin his preparations. "I'm caffeined out."

Hooking his thumb under the flap of the envelope, he ripped it open, pulled out a fat letter written in the obligatory illegible hand of a doctor and began to read. By the bottom of the first page tension was visibly draining from Gerard; he was smiling by the bottom of page three and suspiciously bright-eyed by the middle of page five. The letter stopped abruptly at the bottom of page six. Mentally adding the three lines which made up page seven - and the end of the letter - he looked up to find Kimble watching him with his heart in his eyes.

"Well, you don't write often, but, boy, when you get started you make a fine job of it. I wish I could have been with you," Gerard added without sentiment.

"Me, too. I missed you, Sam."

"It's been grim," he acknowledged. His gaze dropped to the plaster which emerged from under Kimble's shirt cuff to cover his left hand to the knuckles. It was no source of pride to admit he hadn't noticed it until Richard had mentioned it in his letter. "How's the wrist doing?"

"It's fine. Another month in plaster, some physio. and I'll be back at work. Even I haven't been able to get paranoid about it."

"That's good. Not being able to work must have been the final straw."

Kimble blinked. "I'd never stopped to think about it. But, yes, I suppose it was. The last thing I wanted was any free time because then I'd have to stop and think. Instead of facing up to things, I ran away." Regret echoed in his voice, guilt on his face.

Gerard gently shook his head at him. "Let it go, Richard. Let it go. You're home now." The knowledge slowly sinking in, he gave one of his blindingly sweet, unpremeditated smiles.

Returning it without even being aware he was doing so, Kimble recognized that even when he didn't feel forgiven for whatever hurt he had inflicted, he was. Sam didn't hold grudges. He refocussed to see Gerard swallow another yawn.

"You look like you could use some sleep," Kimble noted.

Gerard gave a wry grimace. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"Kind of. I could use an early night myself," Kimble lied.

Nodding, Gerard was ambushed by his next yawn before he could disguise it. "This isn't much of a welcome home."

"Trust me, it'll do fine. Just fine. I'll lock up," added Kimble. He longed for some sign of the easy affection that had existed between Gerard and himself but hesitated to display any because he had no sense that it would be welcome. He was hurtfully aware that Sam had made no attempt to touch him. In fact if it wasn't for the fact he was afraid he was being paranoid he might have thought Sam was going to some pains to avoid physical contact with him.

They had achieved a guarded understanding, and he knew beyond doubt that he had been forgiven; it wasn't in Sam's nature to withhold on purpose. But it was as if there was a wall between them and he didn't know how to move beyond it. Sam had obviously been deeply hurt and right now he had little emotional energy left. There was no joy in his voice or eyes, and certainly no pleasure, only an immense weariness, as if he had been taxed beyond his strength.

Leaving his luggage sitting at the foot of the stairs, Kimble flicked off the hall light and headed into their bedroom. It was only then that he realized he was aching as if he had been beaten with clubs: tension, he recognized. It was not until he began to get ready for bed that he appreciated just how far they had moved from their usual relaxed routine of moving in and out of each other's space without even being conscious of it. About to enter the bathroom behind Gerard, the door was closed in his face, as if Sam hadn't noticed he was there - or had become so used to his absence that he took it for granted.

Shaken, Kimble took a steadying breath and followed the other man before he could lose his nerve. The surprise on Sam's face when he saw him hurt but Kimble pretended not to notice it, looking for a way through this.

"How about a soak in the tub?" he suggested with every appearance of normality.

"I'm too tired," Gerard confessed.

That wasn't exactly news; he looked haggard, purple-brown shadows deep as new bruises under his sunken eyes. His leaden movements, devoid of their usual grace, betrayed how much effort they required. Blinking too fast, Kimble savagely suppressed the urge to weep. As he watched, Gerard tried to load his brush with toothpaste. It was only when the first two portions shook into the sink that he recognized how nervous Sam was.

Unless he was afraid of him.

His eyes stinging, Kimble took refuge at the john.

The real shock came when he saw that Gerard, usually supremely comfortable in his own skin, intended to go to bed wearing his shorts and a tee shirt. Already naked, Kimble hovered by the side of the bed before sliding under the sheet and hastily tucking it over himself. He made no attempt to bridge the width of the mattress which yawned between them as he switched off the light.

"Night, Sam."

The quiet acknowledgement seemed a long time coming.

Tension locking his muscles, Kimble stared unhappily up at the ceiling as he tried to remember exactly what he had done to make Sam this nervous about sharing a bed with him. And how he could put it right. He'd certainly done worse than deliver a glancing blow.

Christ, what - exactly - had he done?

It scared him to discover how little he could remember of the last few weeks. His broken wrist had been a blessing in disguise; his patients deserved better than a man with his mind elsewhere.

So did Sam.

He glanced at his lover's averted back but was wary of pushing until he knew what was wrong.

Even the air-conditioning was quiet tonight. In the silence he could hear the soft, regular inhalations of the man sharing the bed, just as he knew Sam could hear him. About to speak, to try and bridge the gap, he lost his nerve. But as he shifted position he saw Gerard tense. His eyes scrunching shut, Kimble set his forearm over them.

 

Jolted awake when a leg slipped between his own, heat to his heat, Gerard was moving away before he was really aware of it. Scrambling across the mattress, he came to a halt to sit on the edge of the bed, his shaking hands tucked between his knees.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to touch you. It won't happen again," he gabbled, hardly knowing what he was saying as he mentally castigated himself. Stupid to fall asleep. Stupid to trust himself.

"What?" Half-hard, Kimble blinked the sleep from his eyes and scooted over to kneel up behind Gerard, reaching beyond him to flick on the light. Doubts forgotten in the face of so much distress and confusion, he tucked his arms around his lover, rocking him in a comforting embrace. "You don't ever have to apologize for touching me."

Again, it was Gerard's expression which betrayed him.

"Oh god, what did I do to you, Sam? Look, if I said anything - I did, didn't I?" Kimble recognized. "I must have for you to believe - Only I can't remember. I'm not just saying that, I really can't remember much about the last few weeks, except being angry and confused and the nightmares. I kept dreaming I was back in the penitentiary though that doesn't happen every night now."

Taking Gerard's clenched hands in his own, Kimble uncurled the locked fingers and kissed the callused palms. Looking up, it was only then that he discovered why Sam had made no attempt to say anything. Silently and unobtrusively tears were sliding down his cheeks.

The sight terrified Kimble more than anything else that had happened so far. "Oh, jesus. What's wrong? What did I do to you? You have to tell me so I can try to put it right."

Gerard shook his head, his hands parting in a helpless gesture. "I can't stop," he muttered, the relief from tension so acute that all his defenses had collapsed. Then he was returning Richard's grip, holding onto him as if to a lifeline as his locked-down emotions spilled free and he cried and cried.

Fiercely protective of the man whose grief was literally being ripped from him, Kimble's mouth twisted as he bowed his face over the dark head now tucked into the hollow of his shoulder, murmuring comfort and rocking Gerard until the storm should have worn itself out. Stroking up and down Sam's torso, he became aware of just how much weight the other man had lost. Always lean, Sam looked worn to the bone, all of which were uncomfortably close to the surface right now. He lived on his nerves and paid the price; that constant expenditure of energy exacting a toll. Now there was no crackle of vitality, only a sense of raw pain stoically borne. Sam was all too human and if he forgot that again he risked hurting him to the point where it might not be possible to make good the damage.

When Sam was finally spent, Kimble wiped the other man's face dry with his hands and gave him a portion of the sheet with which to blow his nose.

"Jeez," said Gerard in tones of wry self-disgust.

"Shut up, Sam." It had the sound of an endearment as Kimble leant forward and began by kissing the red, salty-tasting eyelids, only stopping when he reached the still inclined to be unsteady mouth. His reward came when the dry lips made a tentative response but he knew better than to offer more than the lightest of caresses.

"Whatever I said or did to you, I can't have been awake because I couldn't turn you away. How many times did I reject you?"

Gerard evaded his gaze. "I don't remember," he said with truth.

That telling him all he needed to know, a shudder went through Kimble. He tucked himself tighter around the other man, hungry for the reassurance of touch; he knew that hunger must be shared when Sam shifted slightly to accommodate their new position.

Kimble's voice was slightly muffled against his companion's throat. "Since the thing with Devlin-MacGregor broke I've been having a lot of nightmares about the past - Helen's murder, prison. I mean I was lucky while I was in prison, I know that. But there was a guy who shared my cell for two or three months who was a real pain. He never stopped hoping I'd change my mind and adopt him. So every night I'd wake up feeling him groping me, or trying to climb on board and I'd have to wake up enough to get rid of him until the next time."

Feeling Sam tense in his arms, Kimble slowly raised his head, the pain of the realization in his eyes as he held the somber gaze of his lover. "I did that to you, didn't I." It wasn't a question.

Gerard nodded. "Yes. Between the shit the press were feeding me and that - I started to believe - Hell, you know what I believed. I was too busy reacting to think straight. I should have talked to you."

Kimble reasserted his right to hug his lover. "It's amazing how you manage to make me fucking you over your fault."

"We both screwed up. Let it go. It's over," said Gerard, emotional exhaustion dragging at him.

Nodding, Kimble touched him lightly. "Then will you come back to bed with me?"

Too tired to be capable of making a snappy answer Gerard nodded. He demonstrated the extent of his trust by yanking off his tee shirt and shorts and tossing them across the room. When he wrapped himself around Kimble, the doctor had the sense to stop apologizing and hold the man he loved above all others. Little by little he felt Sam relax into the embrace until he was virtually boneless.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his mouth brushing the earlobe closest to his mouth.

Gerard gave a humorless snort. "You'll never know."

Nuzzling the side of Kimble's neck, he fell silent on a sigh of contentment, leaving Kimble to stare out into the darkness, absorbing the truth of what he had been told. He never would know all of it, but they would come through this. And he would learn from it. He was never going to see Sam hurt like this again, least of all by himself.

Gerard's involuntary grunt of discomfort told Kimble how much his grip must have tightened. "Sorry," he muttered, "I just - "

"I know," said Gerard.

With the comforting certainty that Sam did, Kimble kissed the edge of the sharply-defined jawbone. Gerard moved his head; their mouths brushed then they were kissing slowly and tentatively, before Gerard flinched away.

"Sam?" asked Kimble, aware that the other man had tensed in his arms.

He gave a rueful grin, looking faintly embarrassed. "It was a surprise."

"What?" asked Kimble, worried that he might have done something Sam didn't like - or worse that he didn't feel ready for.

"The beard. I've never kissed anyone with a beard before. I feel like a damn adulterer."

Kimble tugged at the somewhat ragged result of twelve days without a razor. "I forgot I'd started to grow this. I was living in the past," he recognized with chagrin. "Do you like it?"

Gerard leant up on one elbow. "It hides your mouth. No," he said without further explanation.

"Then I'll shave it off tomorrow. Better still, you can do it for me with that cut-throat razor of yours."

Dark eyes travelled over him and Kimble belatedly appreciated the possessiveness in their depths, awareness an itch on his skin. He tried but failed to remember the last time they had made love.

"OK," said Gerard before he bent his head over the doctor.

The snuffling noises Sam made as he explored him made Kimble shiver. "What are you doing?"

"Smelling you. You smell different. A new cologne?" Gerard raised his head.

Kimble looked resigned. "I'll go back to my old one."

"No, it's OK. I kind of like it. You just don't smell the way I'm used to, that's all."

"I've been using a different soap too," offered Kimble.

He sounded distracted because all his attention was on Gerard as the other man moved until he was covering him - or would have been but for the fact he was supporting himself on his palms, his weight taken by his straight arms. Looking darkly satanic, Gerard filled his horizon.

Kimble ran his fingers up one taut-muscled forearm, then down again to cup the sinewy wrist. In one smooth movement Gerard stopped straddling him to lie on his back, next to but separate from his lover; his penis was lengthening, thickening.

Kimble gave it a look of longing but resisted the temptation to touch. "What?" he coaxed into the silence. He watched Gerard swallow.

"In the two years between loving you and meeting you again I got accustomed to wanting you. But in the months we've been living together I never appreciated how much I need you in my life. Dumb," Gerard added after a moment.

"The needing?" teased Kimble as best he could for the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, right." Then Gerard's hand was linking with Kimble's, entwining their fingers tight as can be, just before Kimble raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the large knuckles.

The next time Gerard leant over him it was to retrieve the lubricant from the nightstand.

Flat on his back, Kimble watched through unblinking eyes, sensing that tonight Sam needed to be in control in every way. Passive and accommodating to anything Gerard wanted to do to him, he sighed his approval as the other man applied a generous quantity of lubricant to his broad-tipped fingers.

But this was like no other time; the preliminaries cursory at best, Sam was inside him in one burning thrust. Ignoring the discomfort, Kimble arched up, demanding more, using his leg muscles to try and drag Gerard deeper inside him. Large hands cupped his ass as Gerard bent over him and set about marking his territory.

It was the most physically uncomfortable sex Kimble had ever had. Fierce and fast and overwhelming, Gerard offered little and took what he wanted. His face driven and blank, all his senses were locked to the imperative to rut. The force of the other man's possession driving him up the mattress, Kimble was able to stop worrying about possible concussion if he hit the headboard when the pillows cushioned him. He locked his legs tighter around the man seemingly intent on splitting him in half.

Gerard drove his cock deeper and deeper into him, the slap of flesh on flesh growing wetter with sweat.

From some distance away Kimble heard the animal sounds he was making; open, without a defense, he stared up into the demonic, driven face of the man staking his claim.

Then Sam was kissing him, seemingly trying to suck the soul from his body; teeth scraped his nipples, making his head thrash, neck arching just as Gerard hunched, gathering pace and power again.

Cursing the hindrance of the heavy plaster on his left arm, Kimble had to stop gripping Gerard to work his neglected cock. Incoherent sounds escaping him, his muscles clamped down when he came, spilling Gerard into climax seconds behind him.

Gerard's weight heavy on him as it pressed him into the mattress, Kimble grinned inanely at the ceiling. They were both panting hotly from their exertions, sweat and semen gluing them together. Their bodies were still joined.

Shaken by just how total Gerard's takeover had been - and how much he had got off on it - Kimble winced when the other man stirred enough to take his weight on his knees and elbows and eased from his body. Still half-covering him, Gerard grunted something indistinct and tucked his face into the hollow of Kimble's shoulder, one large hand cradling the back of his skull.

His legs no longer feeling as if they belonged to him Kimble tried to coordinate his responses enough to flex his cramping muscles. Tempted to pat himself, just to make sure he was still in one piece, he held on tight, his fingers splayed out in the hollow of Gerard's back, ensuring that he remained close. He felt marked, owned, spoken for; Big Dog scent-marking him in his own inimitable fashion.

Proof he had Sam back.

Not that Sam was aware of what he did. Kimble had no intention of telling him. The last thing he wanted was to make Sam self-conscious about his possessive traits. Kimble suspected he should resent it like hell; he had been mastered with a casual arrogance that should have ruffled every testosterone-laden prickle. Instead, he was lying here with his ass burning and his muscles aching and the weight of Sam Gerard pressing the breath from his body and all he could do was grin like a fool - and a fatuous fool at that.

He kind of liked it when Sam set about marking his territory. He didn't even mind the stubble-burn - too much.

Kimble was roused from his abstraction when the snuffling down his neck began again, the stubble which darkened Gerard's jaw rasping against his skin.

"Sam?" His fingers ruffled the sweat-dampened hair.

"Well, you got that much right. That must be a good sign," muttered Gerard as he lifted himself from the support offered by his lover's body to the mattress, but he remained pressed against the length of Kimble's body.

"The best," confirmed Kimble indulgently. "Does the way I smell suit you better now?"

"Oh yeah. You smell of Richard again." Satisfaction echoed in Gerard's voice, which had the lazy richness of a man who had just got some.

Kimble slid his hand down to cup the rise of Gerard's ass, disconcerted to find he covered more of it than he was used to. "No, I smell like Richard-and-Sam. Just like you smell of Sam-and-Richard."

"Please," groaned Gerard, but it was a token protest at best as he rubbed his cheek against his lover's shoulder.

After some minute shifting to achieve the position of maximum comfort both men simply lay together, inhaling their mingled scent as they fought the inevitable. That was Kimble's last memory until he was woken by the shrilling of the telephone to find himself on the other side of the bed. He stirred in time to see his companion snatch up the receiver.

"Gerard. Why would you imagine you're disturbing us? Hell, it's almost light. Cranky? Who, me?" Even to Kimble the humor sounded forced. "Yeah, right. OK, Poole. You want to tell me why you're so perky? In custody?" He pushed himself up in a burst of energy at variance with the fatigue on his face. "Well done, young woman. Excellent work."

Relaxing because it was obviously good news, and still muzzy-headed from his abrupt awakening after too little sleep, Kimble was pleased - if surprised - by his relative lack of physical discomfort as he wandered off to the john. He returned to the bedroom in time to see Gerard cut the connection.

"As of twenty five minutes ago Doctor Wallace is back in custody, with the woman who's been harboring him all this time a sadder and wiser women. Or she will be after her first night in a holding tank," added Gerard, shaking his head. "Can you imagine an intelligent woman being taken in by a guy like that?"

Kimble paused at the side of the bed to rub some stubble-burned skin. "Why was Poole handling the case? Instead of you, I mean?"

Gerard grimaced. "It would have meant my leaving Chicago. I wanted to hang around in case you - " He trailed off into silence with a shrug. "This kind of high-profile, high-pressure case has been good for her. Now she can get the glory and call the press conference to give them the news. You OK?" he thought to add, patting Kimble on the flank as he clambered into bed.

"I'm fine, Sam. Just fine."

"That you are," Gerard agreed.

Kimble fell asleep curled around the other man, unaware that the heavy weight of his plaster was digging into Gerard's belly.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep when the second call came, but Gerard's relaxed expression told him it was worth the disturbance.

"Another case concluded? The press are going to love you," he told Sam flippantly. An expression he wasn't sure how to describe crossed Gerard's face.

"I'm a very lovable guy."

Caught by a rush of emotion, it was a moment before Kimble trusted his voice. "Yes," he said, "you are."

"Go back to sleep," said Gerard tolerantly. Warmth glowing in his eyes, the lines of strain eased on his face, he looked a very different figure from the man of just over eight hours ago. He delicately ran the tip of his index finger along one of Kimble's eyebrows before he smiled that half-shy, half-knowing smile which meant Richard had to kiss him.

The rasp of stubble on stubble parted them just before the third telephone call. Muttering silent imprecations, Gerard picked up the receiver.

"I don't believe this," he said, ten minutes later. "That was Cosmo. He got his man."

"I gathered," said Kimble, having enjoyed the three different techniques Sam had employed to debrief three very different deputies. "You won't have to go in, will you? It is Saturday."

Gerard shook his head. "Nope. I'd only be doing the paper work that's theirs by rights. Time for them to get used to me delegating more."

A slow smile of satisfaction crossed Kimble's face. "Oh yeah."

The smile slowly faded as he noticed that Sam looked appallingly tired, just before it occurred to him that by the speed of his response Sam must have already been awake to answer the telephone each time it had rung. Given how exhausted he was there was only one possible explanation; something, or someone, must have woken him. With the unhappy suspicion that he knew who was responsible, he set about testing his theory.

"Have you slept at all tonight?" he asked.

"Some," replied Gerard evasively.

"It can't have been much by the speed with which you've been answering the phone. Did I do something to wake you?"

Asked a direct question Gerard wouldn't lie; his shrug was answer enough.

"Oh shit, I've been dreaming again, haven't I," recognized Kimble in tones of self-disgust.

The look Gerard flashed him before he thought to disguise it told Kimble all he needed to know.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Sam. I should have warned you. Only I felt so relaxed once you and I were back together that I guess I hoped one wouldn't hit tonight. Or not the same one."

"About me." It wasn't a question and Gerard was now looking everywhere but at him.

"Yeah," acknowledged Kimble unhappily.

Gerard was staring at the sheet. "I suppose it's inevitable, given how close I came to killing you," he said finally, forcing the words out.

"What?" Kimble caught hold of his arm.

"You need reminding?" asked Gerard with a trace of bitterness.

Kimble took a moment or two to collect his breath. "No, but I'm not and never have obsessed about it either. I've never dreamt about you hunting me down - not even before we met up again. You'd think I would have done, wouldn't you," he mused, almost to himself as the thought occurred to him. "I was terrified you'd catch up with me - with good cause. But I always sensed it wasn't personal with you. You were just a decent man doing his job the best way you know how."

"Even after I tried to kill you twice?"

Kimble gave him a look of exasperated affection. "You don't get it, do you? For a bright guy you can be really dumb. A lesser man, a trigger-happy man, would have shot me when we were in the outflow to the spillway."

By this time Gerard was looking both relieved and puzzled. "Then if they aren't about me shooting you, what nightmares do you have about me?"

The smile faded from Kimble's eyes. "The worst kind," he said in a low voice. "The kind where you're in danger and I can't save you. Where you're lost in the blizzard and I don't find you in time. Or you're burning to death after the van crashed and I get there but I can't open the doors. Or I shoot you in Sophy's hospital room. Only this time it's in the heart. Whatever the situation, whatever danger you're in, I can't stop it from happening. I can't save you." Unaware of what he was doing, he gripped Gerard's forearm with unconscious strength.

"Don't look at me like that, Sam. I wouldn't lie to you about this. Well, anything," Kimble amended with a matter-of-factness which carried its own conviction.

"I know," acknowledged Gerard slowly.

Kimble ran his hand along the arm he had been gripping, then gave it a pat and released Gerard. "While we're on the subject of my dreams, I've been dreaming about Helen a lot, too - specifically about her being murdered. The dreams started up again around the time the whole Devlin-MacGregor case set the press up again. In my dreams I know Sykes is waiting for her, I know what's going to happen, but I can't warn her to get there in time to save her."

He looked up abruptly. "My mourning for Helen was done before you and I met again, Sam. I said my final goodbyes to her on the anniversary of her death. Whether my nightmares feature Helen being murdered or you being killed they're really about me. Failing to protect the people I love. But I thought you should know. I need you to be certain why you might hear me call her name one night - if I do. I know I've woken myself up yelling your name more than once so I expect I do. I just don't want you to doubt your place in my life. Ever again."

Blinking very fast Gerard looked absurdly vulnerable, the set muscles of his face seeming to melt down. "You talked in your sleep some," he allowed, his voice a husky mutter. "Before you went away."

It didn't take a genius to work it out from there. A soft sigh escaped Kimble as he briefly closed his eyes. "Fuck," he murmured in heartfelt tones. "I never wanted you to have to put up with all this shit because of me."

"I could say the same," Gerard pointed out, in more of his usual tone. "Only I happen to think it's worth it. With Wallace recaptured and the other two big cases completed I don't have to hold any press conference for a while. By the time I do we'll be old news - particularly once summer's over."

"Until the next time." There was an edge to the usually warm voice. "I've just been in ten cities where no one knew me from the next guy. You have no idea how good anonymity can be."

Gerard saw no reason to enlighten his lover. "If you want to leave Chicago we can move anywhere you want."

Disconcerted, Kimble stared at him. "Leave?"

"Sure." Gerard's manner was unexcited.

In no doubt that Sam meant it, Kimble stared at him. He would give up his friends, home and work for him - roots which were vital to the man who'd had security ripped from him at a vulnerable age.

"No way," he said firmly. "The only reason for us to leave would be if we both wanted to - not because of the media. Besides, the way we fixed that porch swing, it's never going to come down and I'm not sure I could make another just like it."

"I'm serious here, Richard."

"I know you are. But - " Kimble gave him a shamefaced look. "This is my hometown. Despite all that's happened here I love the place. I was just dumb enough to let what the Press said matter. They fucked with my head till I couldn't think straight. And you weren't any help," he added accusingly.

"I should have figured it would be my fault," Gerard mused dryly.

"It is in a way. I rely on you to give me a kick in the ass when I need it. I'll do the same for you."

"No need to sound so gleeful at the prospect. I'm perfect, it's never going to be necessary."

"Delusional, too," Kimble noted.

Gerard grinned, yawned, then grimaced when his stomach began a prolonged protest.

"When did you eat last?" enquired Kimble.

"I can't remember. You've lost weight," Gerard added. It had the sound of an accusation.

Kimble refrained from the obvious comeback because he knew Sam had lost more than two or three pounds and over a period longer than his twelve day absence. It was just that, locked in misery, he had been too self-absorbed to notice what was happening to the man he claimed to love.

"With all the rich food at the various lunches and dinners organized for the delegates I thought I should start some kind of keep-fit regime. So I did some running. More than I expected because my knee held up pretty well."

"I didn't know you had a bad knee."

"For years. I liked to kid myself it was why I never played college football but the simple truth is that I wasn't good enough. Sometimes it plays up even now."

"Now I think of it, you were limping in the lockup before you caught your foot in the door." The effort it cost Gerard to try and speak naturally about that time was obvious.

"I wrenched it when I was on foot in the woods," said Kimble, without having to make any effort at all. Having seen the damage a lack of communication caused he had started as he meant to go on. "It's fine now. I'll call the store, order some food as a matter of priority. We can shower while we wait for it to arrive."

"OK," said Gerard equably. When he pushed himself up from the bed the hollows between his ribs were uncomfortably well-defined. "Feel like scrubbing my back?" he enquired.

"It couldn't hurt," Kimble allowed, as if the idea was new to him.

It was only as he watched Gerard, now naked, flick on the water that Kimble remembered the plaster he wore. "I need plastic bags. And sticky tape. You can help."

Gerard obediently followed him downstairs, searching for both items while Kimble called through an order to the local convenience store for enough food for a small-sized army.

"I have plastic, I have tape," said Gerard, holding up both. "It has to be said, life with you is one new experience after another. Is this for some sexual technique I should know about?"

"Don't get smart," Kimble told him with would-be severity. "Just tape this tight so I keep the plaster dry. I haven't had a decent shower since I broke the damn thing." Naturally he felt obliged to give directions.

A length of sticky tape in his hands, Gerard made an intimidating figure. "Richard, this isn't brain surgery. Let me do this before I fasten this bag over your head. Not another word," he warned when Kimble opened his mouth.

Giving the smallest of grins, Kimble restricted himself to a few soft mutterings. When they were back in the bathroom, he took charge. Ensuring the water was at just the right temperature, he applied lavish amounts of shower gel to one of the huge natural sponges. Pressing himself against Gerard's back, he slowly and sensuously began to wash him.

"Shut up, Sam," he murmured, able to see enough of the other man's profile to know when Gerard opened his mouth to protest.

"OK." Slippery with a silken coating of suds, Gerard gave himself up to the caressing attentions that were designed to relax, not arouse. The cascading water felt as if it was cleansing him of the detritus of the last few unhappy weeks. His eyes closing, he allowed himself to relax.

"Bathtimes haven't been nearly so much fun without you," Kimble told him.

He ensured he kept as much of himself in contact with Gerard as was possible, lavishly applying gel, then rinsing away the bubbles with the flat of his hand. He washed Gerard from ears to toes, gently, lovingly and thoroughly soaping and rinsing every inch of him. Crouching down to wash between the long toes, he paused to admire the narrow foot with its elegant ankle. Never in his wildest fantasies had he ever expected to be turned on by a man's ankle.

Water sliding down his face, Gerard stared at the head bent to him. "Richard - " he began uncertainly.

Kimble kissed the prominent ankle bone and rose to his feet, steam wreathing around them as he patted Gerard on the navel. "I like doing it. Live with it. Jesus, I love you," he added. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he took Gerard in an one-armed hug.

"I know what it is," said Gerard, patting the beautiful lines of the other man's water-slick spine. "You've got this masterplan to turn me into a promiscuous hugger. Trust me, it's never going to happen. My boss wouldn't like it at all."

Kimble gave a snort of laughter, his eyes warm with affection as he raised his head to stare into Gerard's eyes. Whatever he saw there seemed to reassure him because he retrieved the sponge from where it had fallen and thrust it at Gerard. "Wash my back for me?"

"And the rest."

The only difference in Gerard's technique was that he kissed more of what he washed.

"You missed a bit," Kimble pointed out, trying to fight off galloping romanticism.

"Don't push it," Gerard advised him, reaching up to switch off the water before he tossed his companion a towel.

Unpeeling Kimble from the plastic covering on his arm, Gerard gave a grunt of satisfaction as he checked that the plaster hadn't got wet, then just stood as the exhaustion he had been fighting caught up with him; he felt as if every particle of energy had just been sucked from him.

"I think I'll pass on breakfast and grab a few hours sleep," he mumbled, virtually swaying where he stood.

Shooting him a glance of concern, Kimble recognized that will-power alone was keeping the other man on his feet. He knew better than to offer any assistance.

"While you dry off I'll change the bed," he said. Hindered by the plaster he took slightly longer but Gerard was too tired to criticize.

"I'd hoped to be livelier than this," he mumbled as he settled between clean, crisp sheets with an unconscious sigh of relief.

Kimble sank onto the edge of the bed beside him, tweaking the material up an unnecessary couple of inches; his fingertips drifted over Gerard's back as the other man tucked his face into the pillow. Wordlessly Kimble bent to kiss the drying dark hair. Making a soft sound deep in his throat Gerard unconsciously snuggled closer, so that his forehead brushed his lover's bare thigh, his hand over one brown foot.

"Go to sleep," urged Kimble. "I'm fine. I need to unpack, see to a few chores, soak up the fact I'm home - with you," he added with deliberation.

"Yeah, yeah," growled Gerard at his gruffest, before he patted Kimble's leg. "I missed you like hell." He rubbed his cheek against the pillow slip, fighting off the fatigue dragging at him. "Knew I meant to tell you something. There's a stack of video tapes in the living room. Six, I think. I've been taping the game for you."

Staring at Gerard's just visible face, for a moment Kimble didn't trust his voice. While their lives had been crumbling around them Sam had remembered to tape the game, something he had quietly taken to doing since he had discovered Kimble's competence had well-defined limits; timers of any kind defeated him utterly.

"That's terrific," he managed to say. "Thanks. I've completely lost track of how they're doing this season. In that case, you can forget all hope of me doing any chores. I'm going to grab some breakfast and watch a few games."

A vague mumble was his only acknowledgement, Gerard's breathing evening out as he fell asleep. Despite what he had said Kimble stayed where he was, watching his love. He was still there to soothe Gerard when the other man began to mutter and twitch in obvious distress.

The second time it happened Gerard started awake, relaxing the moment he discovered Kimble was stretched out beside him. Patting Richard's belly, he slipped into a peaceful sleep. Watching the lines of straing smooth out, hunger eventually sent Kimble downstairs, satisfied that Sam would sleep for hours yet.

Having eaten brunch and put away the groceries, it was with a sense of real decadence that Kimble sat down to watch the game. He had never got into the habit of watching television during the day.

Still muttering imprecations at the end of the first game, having sorted through the tapes so he could watch them in chronological order, he decided there was a lot to be said for being able to edit out the commercials. Wandering into the kitchen for more coffee, he returned to discover he had forgotten to rewind the tape, which was showing the round-up of local news for the first week of July. About to switch off the video, he hit the volume control when a familiar face appeared on the screen, Gerard wearing that closed look of patient suffering he adopted for press conferences.

"...so deputy marshal, how easy is it to live with the man you tried to kill?"

Coffee dribbling from his mug to the sofa, Kimble stared at the screen in shocked disbelief. Certain he must have misheard, he rewound the tape. The second viewing was even worse because this time he watched Gerard's face and saw that, coming from nowhere, the shock tactic by the press worked. The invasion into his personal life caught Gerard completely off-guard. As Kimble watched the muscles of Sam's face slackened, shock parting his mouth, the pain and doubt raw in his eyes. To anyone who knew him it was obvious he had just been stripped of several layers of skin. Kimble winced as the camera homed in on Sam's face, mercilessly exposing every tiny line and pore and leaving him with no hiding place, every secret there for the world to see as he battled for control.

"Deputy marshal - "

The babble of voices spiralled up, lights flashing as, like sharks in a feeding frenzy, the press went in for the kill, sensing vulnerability in the man they had dubbed Stonewall Gerard years before the name would acquire an added significance.

Squinting as if he was in pain, Kimble watched the screen in appalled disbelief as he heard the ugly, invasive questions jabbed at the man forced by the demands of his job to stand there and take it without betraying what it cost him. Almost anyone else could have told them to fuck off; as supervising deputy Sam represented the Marshal's Office and, as such, had to keep control of his temper. Stopping the tape the moment the segment concerning Gerard was over, Kimble inserted the second, fast-forwarding through the game in case this tape had also been left to record until the tape ran out. Sam had made the news round-up again, only on this occasion the clip of him at a press conference was followed by a public dissection of the nature of their relationship. It seemed to occur to no one that they might simply love one another.

The planes and angles of his face set, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw, Kimble didn't make it through the fourth tape. Bear-baiting must have been like this, he thought numbly, staring at the image frozen on screen where he had hit the pause button instead of stop. Awarded a full close-up, the stress Sam was under was mercilessly exposed; to Kimble, the change in the other man during those four weeks was shockingly apparent.

The bastards, he thought, rage beginning to seep through his disbelief that even the second string reporters would stoop so low. The fucking bastards. What had Sam ever done to deserve public crucifixion - and how had he managed to miss what was happening to Sam? He'd been here while all this had been going on but hadn't noticed a thing.

This kind of media pressure should never have happened. He and Sam were old news. Should never have been news at all. Wouldn't have been except that he lived with the man who had hunted him down when he was on the run.

A lifetime ago.

When the camera cut to a sanctimonious TV evangelist who oozed sincerity as he offered his opinion about their 'unnatural' relationship, the rage which had been building in Kimble finally broke free. Seizing the first heavy object - a bronze statue of a couple of horses - he hurled it through the window leading out onto the porch, the statue heavy enough to take out one of the wooden slats of the porch rail.

The noise it made shocked him into immobility, shaken by his loss of control. Trying to steady himself, he stared at the television screen, the tape having moved on to a commercial by this time. With exaggerated care he walked over to the video and removed the tape from the player. Then he went to the wall socket and flicked off the power. The television screen went blank, the video whining as the green light turned to red. Sitting on the edge of the couch he methodically began to pull the tape from the plastic casing. But in his mind's eye it still continued to play, over and over again.

When Sam had needed him most he had turned his back on him.

Systematically smashing the tape against the decorative metal rim of the glass-topped coffee table, Kimble didn't stop until the casing lay in small pieces.

A sound made him look up to see Gerard in the doorway. Sam set down the glass of water which he had come downstairs to collect, his gaze sliding to the broken pieces of the tape casing.

Shuddering with the effort of containing all the emotions seething within him, Kimble stared up at him. "Trust me to be the last to see those press conferences. I should have known what the media were doing to you, Sam. I should have known."

"Yes," agreed Gerard after a moment or two, all emotion pressed from his voice, "you should."

Kimble flinched. He hadn't expected that. But then he hadn't expected to be prayed for on television either. The immensity of the anger within him made his hands shake. Launching himself to his feet, he swung back to Gerard. "Get out while you still can. I'm not safe." Choked with rage, his voice was barely comprehensible.

Without waiting for a response he swooped and took hold of the heavy metal poker. With that comfortingly heavy weight in a secure grip he brought the poker down in the center of the thirty-four inch television screen. The noise as the screen imploded was indescribable.

The poker hanging from his hand, Kimble swayed where he stood, fighting the rage which that explosion of violence had done nothing to diminish.

"Don't stop," said Gerard quietly, recognizing the struggle the other man was going through without totally understanding its cause.

"I have to," said Kimble in a strange voice, his head bowing. "I don't know how to let go safely. I can't risk losing my temper again. Every time I do, I end up hurting you." His voice thickened with emotion, it was barely comprehensible.

"Trust yourself. I trust you implicitly" Gerard said with flat conviction.

Kimble shook his lowered head. "You don't understand," he said stubbornly. "I've spent too many years denying my temper." Without further warning he brought the poker smashing down with all his considerable strength.

Gerard watched as the other man systematically reduced a glass-topped table to small pieces. The clock was next, followed by a number of ornaments Kimble had bought for the house. But Gerard's photographs of Dave and Elise, which offered such a tempting target, were never under threat; nor was anything of his which Richard knew he valued.

Gerard mentally willed the other man on, still absorbing what he had been told. If Richard had attempted such a radical - and unnatural - change of personality for Helen's sake he must have loved her very much. Suddenly, at the most inappropriate of times, Gerard was able to think of Helen Kimble without resentment. She had been loved by Richard enough for him to try to change his personality for her. Mentally putting her ghost to rest, begrudging her nothing, Gerard just hoped he would do as well by Richard.

A particularly loud crash brought his attention back to Kimble. Twisted with anger, Richard's face was unfamiliar; he was grunting with effort now, sweat stains darkening his green tee shirt, the poker rising and falling as regular as a metronome. The plaster cast he wore prevented him from taking the poker in a two-handed grip but he was a strong, fit man and had left a daunting trail of destruction.

His breath coming in sobbing gasps by this time, exhaustion finally brought him to a standstill, the poker drooping from his hand. Beginning to feel faintly ridiculous, Kimble stared around the room he had just wrecked. After a few seconds he became aware of Gerard, propped in the doorway, watching him with an expression he wasn't sure how to interpret on his face.

"Get out, Sam. It's not safe," Kimble grated. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Kimble threw the poker away from him with a growl of exasperation. It landed with a clang on the metal frame, which was all that was left of the long coffee table.

Gerard's eyes never left his lover's. Projecting a calm certainty, he didn't flinch when Kimble stalked toward him, stiff-legged and antagonistic, violence still seething in him.

"This - " Kimble gestured expansively, contempt on his face, "this is why I hate losing my temper. I can't rely on being able to stop myself. I never know if I can regain control, or what I might say or do. I haven't had enough practise controlling it. I just - " His hands parted in a gesture of futility.

"If you won't trust your judgement, trust mine. You're safe to be around."

"You've had so much experience of seeing me lose it of course."

"I saw you with Nichols in the laundry. You choose not to kill him."

Kimble gave him a look of disbelief.

"Richard, I saw a man with the control not to kill the son-of-a-bitch who didn't care who got murdered so long as he was safe."

The sound of derision Kimble made echoed around the room. "You think I stopped because of my self-control? The only thing that brought me back from the brink was the fact you were holding your gun on me."

Visibly shocked, after a moment Gerard shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"I'm not surprised. I've tarnished my image, haven't I? It's not pretty, but it's true. I would have beaten his brain to a jelly if you hadn't been there. And I should have done," Kimble mumbled, almost to himself. "It was the least I could do for Helen. Any man would have done it. Any man but me."

It was only then that Gerard belatedly recognized how much of Kimble's anger stemmed from the guilt he harbored for not killing Nichols.

"You feel you should have avenged Helen's death that way?" he asked, careful that this shouldn't turn into a confrontation.

"Who else could? You weren't there, Sam. You didn't see what they'd done to her. And I wasn't there to save her." Kimble's right arm lashed out, sweeping to the floor a pile of books. "She would have been so scared," he whispered, shaking his head, as if to deny the memories and the grief that was breaking down the controls erected back when he had been arrested for her murder and which he had never quite let drop.

"Yes, she would," confirmed Gerard. Stricken hazel eyes stared at him, but he knew it wasn't him Richard saw.

To Gerard's relief, it was then that the dam burst and Richard was finally crying. Ugly tearing sounds escaped the man doubled over with emotion as Richard finally began to release his pent-up self-hatred from what he saw as his failure to protect the woman he loved.

It wasn't easy to stand back and do nothing but, his hands tightly clenched, Gerard made himself stay where he was. Now wasn't the time for comfort.

All too soon Kimble muted the noises, then straightened as he fought for control. He flinched when he saw Gerard was watching him, emotion making his thickened voice shake with the intensity of feeling.

"I should have killed the bastard, Sam. It was my responsibility and I failed her." He scrubbed the moisture away with the back of his hand and glared into the middle distance. "I failed her, I failed you - What the fuck am I good for?" he added tiredly, already heading for the door.

While it nearly killed him to do it, Gerard had the sense not to try and stop the other man from leaving the room.

Making no attempt to search his lover out Gerard showered, shaved, dressed, ate and saw to a few chores. Now he sat on the porch swing with a glass of juice, his legs stretched out in front of him, trying not to listen for sounds of life. This breakdown of Richard's had been a long time coming. If he hadn't let the press get to him so much he would have seen the signs in Richard before he left on that tour.

To his surprise, after a couple of hours Kimble appeared on the porch, shot him a quick look, then sat on the other end of the seat. It was obvious he had been crying again, if that was the right word for the explosion of emotion he kept trying to deny.

Leaning down, Gerard poured another glass of the freshly squeezed juice, nudged Kimble's forearm to get his attention and handed it to him before sliding around to stare out into the grounds, giving his companion a modicum of privacy. He'd seen the warning signs - the thinned mouth, stormy eyes and stubborn jut of the chin - but he wasn't worried. He wasn't being excluded now, even if Richard hadn't allowed him in fully as yet; he could deal with anything except being shut out.

Fidgeting where he sat, Kimble finally turned to face Gerard. "I didn't ever want you to see me the way I was back in the living room," he muttered. His voice sounded clogged and thick with mucus and his eyes were bloodshot.

Gerard's head swung around, his gaze coolly assessing, the instinct to comfort under strict control. "I see. And when did you decide I was only entitled to second best in this relationship?" he enquired. His voice was so matter-of-fact that it was a moment before what he had said sank in.

"I didn't. Sam, I swear you've never been - " Kimble stopped, blinked, then shook his head. "I don't think I know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Gerard told him, dryly unimpressed. "When did you decide I was only worthy of being allowed to see the prettied-up version of Richard Kimble? I won't settle for second best. I want all or nothing. It's my right, damn it." Unblinking and unyielding, he stared at Kimble. "So which is it to be?"

Cold with disbelief, his world crumbling out from under him, Kimble licked suddenly dry lips. "You don't want us to live together? You want us to split up?" Already emotionally fragile, there was an audible break in his roughened voice, fear in his eyes.

Gerard's lips moved in silent mutterings for patience. "Don't you ever listen to me? The last thing I want is to lose you. But I refuse to settle for second best." His voice hardened. "Don't you dare hold out on me again, understand? And don't pretend you don't. I'm not claiming it's easy but, jesus, Richard - If you can't trust me that much maybe you _should_ reconsider our relationship because I demand more. And since the press homed in on us I've had nothing at all from you."

"I didn't - and don't - want to hurt you," blurted out Kimble. It sounded feeble to his own ears, even though it was true.

He received a level look which made him fidget.

"Maybe you should stop thinking about what you want and try to see things from my point of view for a change," suggested Gerard. While his tone was mild, Kimble grunted as if he had been winded.

"You play dirty pool, Sam."

"I don't play at all. Not where you're concerned."

It was a long time since Kimble had seen Gerard look that stern. Sam had been honest with him from the very beginning, withholding nothing. The only reason he wouldn't have mentioned the appallingly invasive press conferences was because Sam would have assumed that he knew; that he knew and didn't care.

"I know I've failed you," he muttered in a low voice. "I haven't forgotten. But - It's so hard to live up to this image you have of me. You see me as some kind of do-gooding figure but that isn't me. You need to know that. I wanted to kill Charlie."

"I know you did," said Gerard, his quiet, calm voice drifting into the silence. "Anyone would have felt the same. My point is that you chose not to descend to Nichols' level. Or maybe you had no option. Not because I held a gun on you but because of who and what you are. Like it or not, you're used to saving lives, not terminating them. What does it say in the Hippocratic Oath? ' - And I will do no harm - ' That's embedded in your soul. So you shouldn't be surprised that you chose not to murder a man in cold blood once Nichols was unconscious. No, let me finish, OK?"

Kimble sighed and shrugged but all his attention was on the other man by this time.

"I've been in law enforcement all my working life, first with CPD, then the Marshal's Service. And in those twenty three years I've shot and killed three men - excluding my kidnappers earlier this year." Finding this even more difficult than he had anticipated, Gerard picked his way with care. "Each time it was to save a life - either my own, another law officer or a member of the public. Every shooting was justified. I'm not given to brooding, but I remember each one. And I remember how I felt afterwards, when the adrenaline rush was gone. You could have gunned down Sykes, instead you left him cuffed and unconscious. You could have taken his gun with you when you went to find Nichols. Instead you dumped it in a mailbox. Maybe I do have too rosy a picture of you but I'm a pretty good judge of character. You're a healer, not a killer. It's time you stopped being ashamed of the fact."

"It isn't that easy, Sam," said Kimble tiredly.

"You got that much right. There's nothing easy about killing another human being."

Something in Gerard's tone brought Kimble's head around. "You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"I know it. Each time it needed to be done. But I take no pleasure from it."

Kimble was concentrating so hard he was frowning. "Are you saying that killing Nichols and Sykes wouldn't have made me feel any less guilty for not saving Helen?"

"How could it? You would be a murderer. In your mind as well as the eyes of the law. Helen's too," Gerard added with deliberation.

Silent for a few seconds, Kimble sighed and parted his hands. "That doesn't help."

"I didn't suppose it would. But it needed saying all the same. Feeling guilty is part of the human condition but that's no excuse to wallow in it. Helen would never have wanted you to become an executioner for her sake."

Distracted because there was something different about Sam when he spoke about Helen, a new ease, Kimble gave him a curious look. "How can you be so certain what she would have wanted?" he asked, with no hint of confrontation.

Getting up from the porch swing, Gerard touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Because she and I have one thing in common - we love you. I'll be in the house if you need me. You'll want to do some thinking. You know better than to expect to find any easy or instant answers. But consider talking it out - to a therapist, if not to me. It does help." Delivering a final pat, he strolled away.

 

Hungry again, Gerard drank a glass of milk and made himself a couple of sandwiches, which he ate with real enjoyment, before he went to tackle the mess in the living room. While Richard hadn't made as thorough a job of it as some might, it was a promising start. Whistling between his teeth Gerard carefully began to collect up all the broken glass. The next coffee table they bought would be sturdy enough to prop their feet on - and made of wood, even if it did show the ring stains from their bottles of beer. Maybe Richard would make one.

He was fastening the third refuse sack when Kimble entered the living room.

"I would have seen to this," he said with a trace of awkwardness, rubbing the back of his neck.

Comfortably balanced on his haunches, Gerard's smile was full of warmth as he rose to his feet. "I know. It's not a problem."

Kimble surveyed the damage. "Do you want me to call a glazier?"

"I have. He'll be here Monday morning. We can lock the shutters at night until then. I'm glad you took out that table, I never did like it."

The smallest of grins appeared on Kimble's face. "I could tell. I could make us a new one."

"The thought had occurred to me," acknowledged Gerard.

Kimble's attention returned to the room as he absorbed how localized the damage he had caused really was. "So much for losing control," he said with a trace of bitterness. "I can't even make a good job of trashing a room."

"Practise," said Gerard.

About to snap, Kimble gave a reluctant grin as he recognized the truth behind that pragmatic advise. "Yeah. I will try to open up, but old habits die hard."

Gerard paused on his way out of the room with the refuse sacks. "From my observations you like to excel at anything you put your hand to. Just don't forget this is a little different. Don't be so damn hard on yourself. That's what I'm here for."

The slow smile which blossomed on Kimble's face was reassurance enough before Richard kissed him, somewhere close to the hairline.

When Gerard went out of the room Kimble picked up the waste basket and hauled out the wad of crumpled newspaper so he could wrap it around the pieces of video cassette. Smoothing the paper flat, he paused when he saw that the center spread was a piece of psycho-babble on celebrity pairings who wouldn't last. His relationship with Sam was dissected from a position of total ignorance, although its gist was obvious from the fact they had chosen to use one of the photographs taken when he had been in custody - before Sam had removed the cuffs. God only knew how much of this shit Sam had put up with.

When Gerard's feet appeared in his blurred line of vision Kimble hastily crumpled the paper again before it occurred to him that Sam would already have seen it - and at a time when he believed his lover had left him.

"I stopped watching the news round-up somewhere through the fourth tape," Kimble said without looking up. "I couldn't take any more."

"It won't have made edifying viewing. You weren't intended to see that," Gerard added.

"You think I don't know that." Warm through and through, Sam didn't know how to hold onto a grudge. Hate was a fine, fierce emotion but his fire burned brightest in a less barren atmosphere; while his anger was quick and could be fierce he had never learnt how to hold on to it. Pain was a different matter; while Sam wore it without show, some hurts were etched on his soul. And he had just left Sam with some new scars.

Blinking until his eyes should have stopped smarting, Kimble steadied his chin, his emotions precariously close to the surface right now. While it would be a long time before he forgave himself for putting Sam second, he intended to learn from it. With no sense of surprise he looked up to discover Gerard crouched beside him, patient as a woodsman, ready to offer whatever support might be required.

"I should have been here for you, Sam," he told him, his face bleak with regret.

The newspaper was twitched from his grasp. "The only thing that's fit for is wrapping garbage. It's done with. You want to catch the other end of the couch?"

They spent the rest of the day clearing the living-room before taking up the carpet, the pile of which still glittered with dangerous shards of glass.

"I never was that partial to this," Gerard grunted, the carpet and underlay proving heavier and more awkward to manage than either of them had envisaged.

They set it out in the yard with relief.

"I'll organize someone to take it away," said Kimble as he hauled off his teeshirt and began mopping the sweat from his face and neck. "Why don't we just sand, stain and wax the boards? They'll look terrific."

A small, clear trail of sweat was running down from Gerard's temple. Wiping it away impatiently, he left a smear of dust behind. "That they would. You mean do it ourselves?"

Kimble wrinkled his nose. "I was thinking more of hiring someone."

"Oh yeah, I like that plan even better. They can decorate while they're here. Damn but this room is big. I'd forgotten how much I like it," Gerard broke off to say.

"It was getting too crowded for you, wasn't it," said Kimble shrewdly.

"Maybe, a little. Not that we come in here often. When we get the new TV and video why don't we put them and a couple of comfortable couches up in the room adjoining our bedroom? It's been empty since you switched your office to the den."

"Is that a subtle complaint about all the changes?" enquired Kimble as he squinted in the sunlight pouring into the room.

"You're accusing me of subtlety? That's a new charge," mused Gerard, before his head drifted out of reach of the cuff aimed at him. "Boy, it's humid. I'm going to switch up the air-conditioning. And maybe fasten something over that window to keep the heat out. A cold drink wouldn't hurt either."

"How about something to eat?" suggested Kimble artlessly. Gerard was wearing only a pair of his oldest jeans but today they hung on him.

"Will you stop with the Jewish mother routine. I'm eating. For three," Gerard added with asperity.

They drank chilled sodas as they returned to the living-room, whose potential was obvious now it was empty.

"We could shelve these two longest walls," suggested Kimble. He took out an electronic tape measure, the latest toy Gerard had bought for him. He would use his old tape measure when Sam wasn't around.

"Are you sure you want to do this yourself?" asked Gerard doubtfully. "It's going to be a lot of work."

"I know," said Kimble gleefully.

"One-handed," added Gerard.

"Three," corrected Kimble, patting him on the chest before he handed him his empty can.

"You're going to trust me with your tools?" mocked Gerard. "And you can take that gleam out of your eye. I said 'tools'."

"Killjoy." Kimble ran the side of his thumb over the silky dark hair between the other man's nipples. "You can play with any tool I've got. Just promise you won't cut any more chunks out of yourself."

Hands on his non-existent hips, Gerard gave him a look of exasperation. "I don't do it on purpose, you know."

Kimble's grin faded. "I didn't mean to piss you off," he said apologetically.

Shaking his head, Gerard ran his forefinger down Kimble's nose. "Get real. Then get measuring."

All his attention on the stretch and flex of the beautiful bare back presented to him, Gerard neglected to write down half the measurements he was given, which meant Kimble had to do it all over again.

Muttering happily to himself as he measured, Kimble's bare forearm brushed Gerard's naked chest; the simple touch was like a jolt of electricity. Feeling the scrape of Gerard's nipple all the way down to his toes, Kimble took a steadying breath. He tried not to notice the almost concave belly revealed by the unfastened button at the waist of Gerard's 501s, or the protuberant jut of the navel but it was too late, his body already responding to the scent and warmth of his lover.

"Ah," said Gerard with evident satisfaction as he rubbed his palm lightly over Kimble's growing erection, "tool time."

Moments later Kimble was wrapped around him, tongue slipping sweetly into his mouth. Setting his large hands over the other man's ass, Gerard drew him in as close as he could get.

 

There was a wonderful normality in preparing their evening meal. Sharing a bottle of gutsy red wine, Gerard ate the pieces of cheese Kimble fed him while he chopped vegetables. Ambling unhurriedly around the kitchen, they weaved in and out of one another's personal space, touching frequently and smiling the private smiles of lovers who were together again.

Feeling pleasantly tired rather than suffering from the exhaustion which had been dogging his heels for weeks, Gerard was about as relaxed as it was possible for a man to be while he was still conscious. Unashamedly romantic, they had dined by candlelight.

Richard's voice a pleasurable rumble in the distance, Gerard dreamily watched the way the flickering light turned the other man's eyes to gold. Setting down his glass of wine he leant forward and kissed Kimble gently on the side of his mouth.

"Why don't we go and do the Fifties thing out on that porch swing of yours. We can count stars, neck - "

Kimble gave him a tolerant look. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"Nope. I was too busy gazing into your eyes," Gerard admitted, so without shame that Kimble didn't believe him.

"Wuss," he said affectionately, snuffing out the candles before they wandered onto the porch.

"Sue me."

Instead, Kimble tucked an arm around his chest as Gerard unobtrusively fell asleep. While light pollution cut down the number of stars to gaze at, Kimble sat nuzzling Gerard's hair, the steady, comforting beat of the other man's heart beneath his palm.

Stirring back to consciousness about an hour later, looking endearingly dopey, Gerard smoothed down his ruffled hair and rubbed a hand over his face. "You should have given me a poke."

"You mean - ?" Kimble gestured graphically, then realized Gerard was in no state for a battle of wits. "Bed," he said firmly.

"But it's only - " Gerard squinted at where his watch should be, then shrugged. "Early." Seemingly boneless, he settled back against Kimble. "Where's the rush?" Conscious of the intensity in the gaze turned on him and the trace of doubt Kimble was too worried to hide, Gerard's expression softened even further. "I know how close we came to screwing up. But that's over. We allowed outside influences to affect our judgement and we stopped communicating. Me just as much as you. But we're bright guys. We learn by our mistakes. That won't happen again."

"We're going to be OK, aren't we," said Kimble, less because he doubted it than a superstitious need to hear his certainty confirmed.

Raising Kimble's hand to his mouth, Gerard lightly kissed his knuckles. "We're going to be fine, Richard, just - Shi-it." Unable to arch forward because of the pressure against his belly, he tried to retreat backwards but was prevented from doing so by a pile of fat cushions.

"What? Sam, what's wrong?" demanded Kimble worriedly.

With some care Gerard moved his lover's plaster encased arm away from his bare and now reddened belly. "Nothing much. I never wanted any skin here anyway."

"I forgot," said Kimble with chagrin. "I haven't had much practise at making love with it on." Curling around, his head bowed as he began to lick the sore area, damp swipes of his tongue causing the muscles to flutter at his touch before Gerard began to fidget, the ticklish, arousing combination of tongue and beard threatening his sanity.

 

Half a bottle of wine having its usual effect on his bladder, Kimble had to get up to urinate sometime in the middle of the night. The moonlight spilling in through the windows made even that mundane activity seem romantic. On his way back to bed he paused in the doorway to study Gerard, who was sprawled on his stomach, one arm curved over his head. It was oddly disquieting to see someone usually so full of life so still, though at least Sam was sleeping, Kimble thought, relieved at this proof that the other man really was relaxing.

As if sensing himself to be under surveillance, Gerard's eyes opened. His face unguarded, it was a moment before he focused on the man watching him.

"You OK?" His voice was heavy with sleep.

"I'm terrific," Kimble reassured him. "Just watching you, that's all."

"That's nice." His eyes sinking to a close, Gerard patted the empty space beside him. "Come and have a ringside seat."

Kimble needed no further invitation.

 

"I love Sundays," mused Kimble contentedly. Lounging at the kitchen table, his bare legs stretched out in front of him, he sipped from his second mug of coffee.

"No, you just like making out when we wake up." The same lazy satisfaction echoed in Gerard's voice as he stood at the stove. "And my pancakes, of course."

"That's because you make them so well."

Gerard brought the last batch over to the table, dumped the pan in the sink and sat down opposite Kimble. "I do everything well. Don't just sit there admiring them, eat."

"What about you?"

"I'm full," said Gerard, pulling on a sweatshirt because he felt cool.

While Kimble didn't say anything else the worried droop to his mouth led Gerard to push his plate forward.

"OK, one more," he sighed. He was developing a fellow-feeling with those geese who were force-fed. Still avoiding caffeine, he finished the herb tea Kimble had made for him with a grimace, yet to develop Richard's passion for camomile tea. "Were you serious about getting rid of the beard?" he asked, with no attempt at subtlety.

"Of course." Kimble gave a faint grin. "It's obvious you don't like it. And if it's a choice between having to start shaving again and being kissed at length by you - "

"I've kissed you."

Kimble's grin broadened. "I know. But, trust me on this, you sort of hesitate for a couple of seconds. As if you have to work up the nerve to do it. I got quite a kick out of pretending you were shy until it occurred to me it might be a total turn-off for you."

Gerard just gave him one of his patented looks.

Kimble gave a philosophical shrug. "It didn't hurt to try the pathos card. I haven't missed shaving at all."

"You'll soon get back into the swing of it," Gerard told him unsympathetically. "Are you sure you want to use my cut-throat? It's sharp."

"And I'm a surgeon," Kimble reminded him patiently.

"There is that." Gerard didn't say another word on the subject until he and Kimble were upstairs in their bathroom.

"You're going to watch?" Kimble sounded disconcerted.

"Well, I was. I can go away if me being here is making you uneasy."

"No, it's fine," said Kimble, but without much conviction. With a trace of apprehension he watched Gerard set out a couple of pairs of scissors, his razor and shaving gel. Then he folded a large towel on the edge of the tub and made himself comfortable.

"Sure you've got a good enough seat?" enquired Kimble, acid to hide the fact he was nervous.

"Positive," said Gerard serenely.

Casting uneasy glances at the gleaming blade of the razor, Kimble set about trimming his beard with the scissors; given that the beard was only thirteen days old, it didn't take long. Untypically, he took care in cleaning the hair from the sink, making a ritual of rinsing his face.

"You're just going to sit there, right?" he said edgily, when he could find no more excuses to put off the task. With the razor poised, he suddenly became aware that this was nothing like a scalpel, feeling as if he had ten thumbs and two left hands.

"You bet."

Kimble set the razor back on the edge of the sink. "All right, I know when I'm beaten. It goes against the grain to let you win but it's that or risk cutting my throat. Will you shave me?" He had intended to make a teasing challenge of it but the request felt oddly intimate. When Gerard didn't tease him he suspected the other man was aware of it too.

Fetching a chair from the other room, Gerard placed it by the sink and gestured to Kimble to sit. Standing at his side, Gerard applied the shaving gel with a deft delicacy, rinsed his hands, dried them and picked up the razor. Stooping slightly, he placed his free hand gently on the other side of Kimble's face, tilted it, and with total concentration began to shave the other man.

His eyes following every sure action Gerard performed, either directly or in the mirror over the sink, Kimble discovered it was an unexpectedly moving experience to be shaved by Sam. He had expected it to be vaguely erotic if it was anything - and it was, more than he had been prepared for as he offered up his bared throat to the blade. But that wasn't why he sat so still, concentrating on his lover as intently as Sam was concentrating on him. The gentle pressure from a large hand steered his head in the direction Gerard wanted it to go, the occasional brush of the heel of the hand holding the razor like a caress. And all the time Kimble was achingly conscious of the warmth of Sam's body, knowing beyond doubt that all that formidable concentration was focused on him.

The only sounds were the scrape of the razor and splash of water each time Gerard cleaned the blade.

When Kimble's face was eventually shaved clean Gerard ran a gentle thumb over a smooth cheek and nodded his satisfaction.

His palm still resting on Gerard's flank, for pleasure rather than from necessity, Kimble said, "You're looking very pleased with yourself."

"Why wouldn't I? I've got you back," replied Gerard matter-of-factly.

"Jesus, Sam." Kimble rested his forehead against the other man's chest until he felt able to continue.

Patting him on the back, Gerard kissed the top of his head and began to potter around the room, clearing things away. Untypically just sitting, Kimble came to only when he heard water gushing into the tub.

Gerard replied to the questioning look as if Richard had spoken. "There's something real decadent about lounging in a tub in the middle of the day for no better reason than that it feels good." He added a generous measure of Kimble's bubblebath, eyeing the resultant froth with a pensive eye.

"What's the problem?" enquired Kimble. Stepping up behind his lover, his arms snaked around him as he began to unfasten Gerard's jeans.

"I'm getting to like bubbles," Gerard announced, in the tone of one confessing some terrible aberration.

Kimble's snort of amusement was close enough to Gerard's ear to give him goosebumps as he slid the arm not in plaster around his middle. "Poor Sam. Never mind, I won't tell anyone," he comforted.

Settling in against the cushion offered by Gerard's body, Kimble drew the other man's arms around him with the sigh of contentment. "Oh yeah."

It was the sum total of their conversation for almost ten minutes.

"I can't remember the last time we shared a tub," mused Gerard inconsequentially. Wrapped around his lover, he had his mouth to Kimble's neat-set ear, the very tip of which he had been exploring with his tongue. His hand slid up Richard's throat, his thumb caressing the scar across Kimble's chin. Pausing, he gently caressed the jawline, then eased the other man around to face him.

"I never noticed before but your jaw is slightly out of kilter. You told such a good story that it never occurred to me how close that brass lamp came to killing you You were damn lucky."

Something in Kimble's change of expression told Gerard he had hit a nerve but before he could say anything Richard had settled back against him again, holding Gerard's arms around him. After a moment he gave an audible sigh.

"It wasn't the lamp that smashed my jaw," he said tersely. "It was my father. The year before the disaster with Crystal. By the time that happened I wasn't living with my parents."

Gerard stopped breathing for a second, then rested his forehead against his lover's shoulder.

"They were approaching fifty when I was born," continued Kimble in a colorless voice, trying to divorce himself from what he was saying. "I was a mistake. The start of the menopause, my mother thought. Work was hard to find, even for a carpenter as good as my dad was and money was tight. The last thing they needed at their age was another kid. Most of the time Dad was fine but sometimes he'd get into these rages and - He'd take it out on me. Never Neil or my mother. Just me. I didn't tell anyone. There wasn't anyone to tell. No other relatives. And it isn't the sort of thing you tell your friends. It got worse once I hit puberty. To the point where, when I was fifteen I was desperate enough to tell my teacher. She didn't believe me. I got home that night to find her there, talking with my parents. She left, certain I was an attention-seeking liar. Dad went crazy after she'd gone. I was convinced he was going to kill me. Instead he punched me so hard he knocked me over the bannister rail. I recovered consciousness in hospital to find my face had been rearranged. And even then my mother and Neil wouldn't accept what he'd done to me."

As the arms around him unconsciously tightened, Kimble gave the large hand covering his belly a reassuring pat. The worst part was over.

"But the teacher did. After a messy few months I ended up living with the grandparents of my best friend. They were fantastic. They died just before I went to college. I wish you could have met them, they were so - Rich in everything but money. I would have done anything for them. Kind of like you and Dave and Elise. I'd been used to working since I was ten so I got all kinds of jobs when I moved in with the Jansens, did everything I could to help out. Got a scholarship to college, worked as a short order cook. You know the rest."

His face still against Kimble's shoulder as he rocked him slightly, absorbing the magnitude of the trust placed in him, Gerard was silent for a long time - until he could be certain he had his rage at people long dead under control. For such a proud, capable man to admit he had been abused - Richard was taking him at his word and giving all of himself.

"Your experiences must have brought you and Helen even closer together," he said at last, able now to understand fully why Richard had done his best to deny his temper.

Turning in the embrace, there was open surprise on Kimble's face. "I never told Helen this. How could I tell her? She needed me to be the strong one. The last thing she was ready to deal with was the knowledge that I'd been abused too. Then later, when she could have handled it - " he shrugged, his expression sad. "I was trapped in the lies I'd told by then. I could never find a way to tell her the truth that wouldn't risk damaging the heart of our relationship. We built it on trust, you know?"

"Yes," murmured Gerard, "I know."

Kimble gave a little shiver. "I haven't talked about this to anyone. Not even Kathy. This time I want to get it right. I won't let you down again. But it's hard to - I trained myself not to think about it."

"I've been that route," Gerard said in heartfelt tones. "Only I'm not sure how helpful it is in the long run."

"That's begun to occur to me," Kimble conceded.

Gerard rubbed his forehead against the back of his lover's head. Richard trusted him enough to see behind the mask of the confident surgeon and he felt as if he'd been handed the keys to the kingdom.

In a way he had. A key to Richard anyway. And that was all he wanted.

Gerard's mouth continued to brush a broad shoulder as he willed away residual hurt with every fibre of his being. To his satisfaction Richard was still relaxed in his arms, obviously comfortable with the confidences he had made.

They lay entwined without speaking until the water began to cool.

"I guess we should move," said Kimble, staying where he was.

"It might be a good idea," Gerard conceded. "It is getting kind of chilly."

Leaving the tub they began to dry themselves. One foot on the rim of the tub, Kimble paused in towelling his calf. "I'm glad I told you," he said out of the blue.

Gerard looked across at him, his face unguarded. "So am I."

 

It wasn't until he tripped over the corner of one of his cases where they occupied a good proportion of the bedroom floor that Kimble remembered that he had yet to unpack.

"You can help," he told Gerard.

"Gee whiz, can I stand the excitement," mused Gerard, but he trailed after his lover, mainly because Kimble had taken the bottom of his sweatshirt in a firm grasp.

"Yum, dirty laundry," discovered Gerard.

"Trust you to open the wrong case. Here. Try this one."

Gerard gave a pained grunt when the case proved even heavier than he had expected. "What the hell have you got in here?"

"Books. For you. Well, a few for me."

Cross-legged on the floor, Gerard began to sort through them, pleased noises escaping him. Soon after that he fell silent, mumbling an absent acknowledgement when his companion attempted rational conversation.

Kimble twitched the book from Gerard's hand. "You can check out the rest later. I got a few other things for you." He sounded as self-conscious as he felt, having realized just how many things he had bought.

Surrounded by a sea of packages and bags, Gerard looked faintly bemused. "Where did these all come from?"

"Well, that shirt came from Philly, along with the ties. It was hard to find anything interesting in Philly," confided Kimble.

Gerard studied the pair of Deputy Dawg shorts in a shade of yellow so violent that no human being should have to face them before noon. "It would serve you right if I wore these."

"Oh, they're from Memphis, along with - "

" - the singing doughnut. 'Love Me Tender' huh? Wait a minute, are you saying you went shopping in every city?"

"It became a challenge," said Kimble cheerfully. "Some stuff is being shipped. Just a new chair and desk for your office, some pictures, a few pots. Nothing much."

Gerard nodded. "Pots?" he queried, trying to keep his mouth straight.

Kimble looked defensive. "They're Chinese. I thought you might like them. They'll look good in the living-room, once we get it redecorated. The executive toys came from Des Moines," he said in a feeble attempt to distract his companion from what had undoubtedly been an extravagance.

"And this?" Gerard eyed the elegantly simple gold lighter with puzzlement.

"For lighting your cigars," explained Kimble. "Or do you only use matches?"

Smiling faintly, Gerard gave him a patient look. "I don't use anything. I stopped smoking a month after you moved in permanently."

"For me?"

"That's right. You never nagged but you looked plenty. Disapproval wouldn't have been a problem, it was the silent worrying I couldn't take. It's no big deal. I rarely smoked more than two a week. And you didn't like the taste of them on me."

"No," admitted Kimble. "I can't believe I didn't notice."

"That's because you take me for granted," said Gerard, but he overplayed the pathos and narrowly evaded a cuff around the ear.

"I got these in Denver," said Kimble, producing another box.

Gerard examined the heeled black leather boots with their fancy stitching and the black leather belt with its ornate silver buckle.

"I suppose leather trousers are out of the question," said Kimble sadly.

Gerard just looked at him.

"I thought as much," sighed Kimble philosophically, "which is why I didn't get you any. Our penultimate stopover was in San Francisco."

Gerard gave him a look of the deepest mistrust, which changed to relief when he received only a wallet of the softest leather and a pet rock. "I thought the fashion for these died out years ago," he remarked, the crystal cupped in his large palm.

"It did. That's second-hand," Kimble told him cheerfully.

Studying the new addition to the household, Gerard's frown turned to a grin of delight before he thought to smother it. "This is heart-shaped. You got me a heart-stone," he accused.

"So sue me. Have you ever been roller-blading?"

The change in subject taking him by surprise, Gerard blinked and shook his head.

"Good. I bought us some when I was in - Hell, I can't remember. They're being shipped back together with the protective pads and stuff. We can go to Lake Shore, try them out."

Gerard gave him a patient look. "Far be it for me to be the voice of practicality but you've already broken your wrist," he pointed out.

Kimble's face fell. "I never thought of that. I guess neither of us can afford to be that irresponsible. And there's no point pretending it won't be a risk at our age."

"That's no reason to sound as if we're ready for walkers," protested Gerard, stung.

Kimble hoped he wasn't looking as smug as he felt. Just so long as he didn't overplay it they would be roller-blading before the Fall. Any man with Sam's grace and balance would be a natural.

Gerard gazed around the sea of gifts strewn across the bedroom floor, all of which betrayed how well Richard had come to know his taste and sense of humor. For a man who claimed not to have spared him a thought Richard must have spent quite a time acquiring this varied collection of gifts. It was a moment or two before Gerard realized that his companion was watching him, regret in his eyes.

"I never saw it until now," said Kimble, gesturing around them. "Some guilt trip I was on, huh? These were just supposed to be fun, not some attempt to buy you back. Strange the tricks the mind plays." Bitterness soured his voice.

"Hey," chided Gerard, sliding an arm around him. "It takes more than a pair of yellow shorts to buy my affections. Though it has to be admitted, that singing doughnut probably swung it. Look, I see something I think you might like, I buy it. It's fun buying presents for someone you love. I suppose you didn't buy yourself a pair of leather trousers? Brown, for choice."

"No, of course I didn't." Distracted from guilt, as his companion had intended, Kimble blinked. "You want to see me in leather trousers?"

"Oh yeah," confirmed Gerard, with no hesitation at all.

"Well you kept that quiet."

"Hey, stuff like that's private. But I trust you. Besides, there's the ghost of a chance that you might wear them," said Gerard, getting to his feet and starting to put his new clothes in the closet.

"I'd feel like a complete - " Kimble's voice trailed away. "You're not putting me on?"

Gerard shook his head.

"I guess we could wait to see what Santa brings at Christmas."

"He'll be coming?"

"You better believe it."

Kimble's grin was so lecherous that Gerard's dick stirred and he almost fell over his own feet. Optimistically hoping Richard might not have noticed, he shot his companion another look.

"Mr Cool," mocked Kimble affectionately just before he recognized the glint in the dark eyes and began to back away. Tripping over a suitcase, he fell back onto the bed.

"You were saying?" said Gerard, his accent thick as molasses, standing over him.

Still flat on his back, Kimble held out his hand and when Gerard took it eased Sam down to cover him.

***

 

Woken by the shrilling of the alarm, Kimble rolled onto his back, his forearm over his eyes. It was Monday morning and Sam was due to go into work. He tried to ignore the ferocious itch under his plaster and wished he and Sam could have had more time together before the demands of their - well, Sam's - job crashed back down on them.

He felt so damn guilty but that was his problem. He'd dumped enough on Sam. Though he was glad he had told him the truth.

All the truth.

It had been easier than he'd expected. Casting an affectionate look at the man asleep next to him there was a trace of wonder in Kimble's eyes. God knows why Sam should feel the way he did about him. He wasn't about to knock it but he wished he could be certain he could live up to Sam's expectations - or at least the expectations he felt Sam was entitled to have. Which again, was his problem, he realized. Jeez, it got complicated sometimes.

His gaze continued to drift over Gerard, lazily enjoying the clean lines of him, the way his hair curled behind his ear and the fleshy lobe that was just begging to be sucked - whether Sam liked it or not.

Kimble's air of lazy contentment disappeared as if it had never been when he realized his companion hadn't stirred. Shooting up in bed, his own heart racing, his fingers settled around a sinewy wrist to check the pulse.

"What?" croaked Gerard, starting awake.

"It's OK," soothed Kimble. "Stay where you are. You have a fever."

"I know. I took two aspirin some time during the night," said Gerard. Ignoring the command he pushed himself up in bed, blinking as Kimble headed into the bathroom. There were sounds of cupboard doors banging and various objects falling to the floor before the doctor reappeared with a thermometer in his hand.

Gerard grasped the sheet and held it firmly to his chest but the impact of the glare he offered was reduced by the fact his eyes were watering. "You stick that up my ass at your peril," he croaked, ruining the threat with a doleful sniff.

Kimble stuck the thermometer under his tongue, took his pulse and checked his glands.

"Do you have to go in today?" he asked worriedly.

The thermometer waggled in the affirmative.

"101.2," noted Kimble, removing it.

"Then it should burn itself out quickly." Swinging his legs out of bed, Gerard remained on the edge of the mattress while he tried to summon the energy to make further effort.

Listening to the sounds of coughing coming from the bathroom, Kimble went to squeeze orange juice. He took it in to Gerard, who grimaced and shook his head.

"I'd only throw it up," he said bluntly. Taking the two aspirin, he drank a glass and a half of mineral water.

Kimble watched the familiar routine as Gerard strapped on his ankle holster, before tucking his Glock into the holster at his waist. "You should see a doctor."

"I'm looking at one. Get a grip here, Richard. It's flu."

"It might not be."

Fishing for a clean handkerchief, Gerard blew his nose with vigor. "I'll make a deal with you. If this hasn't cleared up in two or three days I'll see a physician. OK? OK," he added in a different tone when Kimble gave a reluctant nod. "I've gotta go."

"I know. Drink plenty. Take aspirin if you need them. Try to eat something. Keep it simple."

Whatever reply Gerard had intended was lost in a sneeze of cataclysmic proportions.

 

Kimble busied himself with routine chores after checking the work of the glazier. That unwanted reminder of his loss of control made him edgy and irritable. It was as if having opened the door it refused to shut again.

Time hung heavily. While he enjoyed a vacation as much as the next man he was stubborn enough to resent not being able to work when he wanted to. The living-room floor waxed and polished, the decorators managed to make it plain that they would work best without Kimble wandering in every five minutes.

"Point taken," he said with a wry grin.

He was idly propped in the door jamb, watching their truck pull away when the curved hood of Sam's Ferrari purred round the corner and drew up outside the house. Padding out into the sunshine, Kimble opened the driver's door and peered inside.

"You look terrible," he told Gerard frankly.

"Don't start," said Gerard, leaning his head against the seat back and closing his eyes for a moment. "No one's come within ten feet of me all day. Cosmo got real abusive about the possibility of catching my germs. Even Noah turned against me." He stiffly left the car, wearing a fleece-lined sweatshirt despite the heat of the day.

"Boy, you have had a rough time of it," murmured Kimble, trying not to smile as he followed the other man into the house.

Gerard looked frankly pathetic. "You have no idea." If he had possessed a tail it would have been drooping between his legs.

Kimble, who had been joking, shot him a sharp-eyed look before going to fetch his thermometer, more aspirin and warm liquids.

While he grimaced at the idea of food, Gerard drank half the soup warmed for him and ate three crackers. Refusing to go to bed, he lay on the porch swing in a sea of soft cushions, half under a comforter despite the heat, with his head propped on Kimble's bare thigh. He slept for several hours, jagged spells of unconsciousness punctuated by what were obviously nightmares. But he seemed to respond to murmured reassurances and Kimble ensured that he was close by. It was impossible not to notice that Sam was careful to maintain some kind of physical contact at all times, as if yet to be convinced Richard was home.

But then it had only been two days, Kimble reminded himself as he absently rubbed Gerard's back. The stress of the last few weeks had receded so completely that for him it felt as if he had never been away, but then he'd had the easier time of it.

And anger stirred in him again.

 

When Gerard finally woke up it was clear that he was in the iron grip of some flu-like virus. Bright-eyed and feverish, he muffled the cough that racked him in a cushion and looked revolted at the idea he might want to eat something more.

"Go to bed," coaxed Kimble, his palm resting on the other man's damp forehead.

"By myself?" Red of eye and nose, vitality extinguished, Gerard looked about as pathetic as a grown man could.

It was seven thirty in the evening and Kimble didn't even hesitate. "Damn straight by yourself," he said briskly.

The look he received would have melted a far harder heart.

Well-provisioned with a bottle of beer and three books, Kimble went to bed.

 

Drifting in and out of sleep with one hand over Kimble's thigh, Gerard woke, groaned and fumbled for a handkerchief. Aching in parts of his body he didn't remember being aware of before, he was mumbling and muttering to himself as he laboriously left the bed to go into the bathroom.

"Have we got any more aspirin?" he asked on his return.

"On the nightstand," gestured Kimble. "How do you feel?"

Gerard told him in great detail as he huddled back under the comforter that occupied his half of the bed.

"Trust you to catch flu in August. Because you're so cold I've switched off the air-conditioning. I now feel like I'm going to die of heat exhaustion." Reaching out, Kimble brushed some of the lank dark hair from where it fell over Gerard's eyes. "I wish you would see a physician."

Gerard managed to look less at death's door in seconds. "It's just flu. I'll be fine. Eventually," he added with a sigh worthy of Camille herself.

Reassured, Kimble grinned. "Poor baby," he cooed, earning a revolted look from his companion. "Then what's all the fuss about? You didn't complain at all last winter. Why aren't you being brave now?"

Gerard shrugged. "Last winter I was out to impress you."

"You succeeded. Though not because of the way you handled having flu. Are you saying you're not bothering to impress me now?"

Gerard gave a wan smile as he fumbled for another handkerchief. "What would be the point? I've got you now. Or you're stuck with me. Whatever. It's my right to bitch when I feel like hell."

Kimble found another excuse to brush back the dark hair, letting his fingertips brush the other man's cheek before he moved his hand. "True. I guess I'll survive."

This time Gerard's grin was closer to its usual thin-lipped charm. "There's no danger of you sounding too enthusiastic, is there? To listen to you anyone would think I wasn't perfect."

"Odd that."

"You mean I'm not?"

"There's always room for improvement."

Successfully distracted from his aches and pains, Gerard pushed himself up against the pillows. "So what would you change about me?" he asked, intrigued though clearly not making any promises.

Kimble frantically tried to think of some major flaw. "I'd make you tidier around the bathroom."

"That's it?" asked Gerard, taken aback.

"You could be livelier in the mornings you don't have to rush off. I sometimes feel like a necrophiliac."

"I haven't noticed that holding you back," said Gerard dryly. "There must be more than that."

"And," continued Kimble, sounding triumphant because he had thought of one of Sam's habits which genuinely drove him crazy, "I'd stop you from squeezing the toothpaste in the middle of the tube."

"What's to stop you from using your toothpaste? You don't even like the same brand as me." Gerard brought himself up sharply. "Jeez, I can't believe we're having this conversation. And me a sick man."

Kimble placed his palm on Gerard's forehead. "You still have a fever."

"I already knew that."

"You're cranky, too."

Gerard gave him a narrow-eyed glare from red-rimmed eyes. "Carry on like this and I'll breathe on you."

Kimble patted him tolerantly. "You do that. Drink your juice and go back to sleep. My macho mustang," he added, straight-faced.

Because Gerard was already snuggling back under the covers he didn't even hear that murmured provocation.

 

"Was that for me or you?" asked Gerard. Woken by the ringing of the telephone, his alert air was misleading. Graying stubble gave him a sinister air even in the golden wash of morning sunshine which poured in through the windows.

"I won't be out on call for a while," said Kimble easily, replacing the phone on the nightstand.

Looking puzzled, it was only then that Gerard noticed the plaster and remembered. "I can't believe I forgot your broken wrist," he muttered with a trace of remorse.

"Given how many times I've scraped you with this damn plaster I don't know how you managed to," joked Kimble. "You wait until I can get both my hands on you."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. Where do you think you're going?" enquired Kimble, watching the other man cross the room on visibly unsteady legs.

"Work. Was that call just now for me?" Gerard prompted, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a head full of cottonwool and a throat like broken glass even his fingernails ached. All he wanted to do was sleep until the virus had run its course. Recognizing Richard's worried expression he tried to project an air of health but his performance lacked conviction. His breath catching, he began to cough again.

Kimble steered him back to bed, wrapped the comforter around him and handed him a glass of water and two aspirin.

"That was Cosmo on the phone. He was asking me to keep you home for the rest of the week before you infect the entire department. I said I'd do my damnedest." Falling silent, Kimble gave a self-conscious twitch, disconcerted by his companion's unblinking stare. The eyes might be red-rimmed but Sam had silent intimidation down to a fine art. It was disconcerting to be reminded that it was still effective even now they were lovers.

The moment was broken by a sneeze. Sinking back on the bed, Gerard took Kimble's free hand in his own.

"That's the hand you just sneezed in," protested Kimble as he felt the dampness.

"You thought it was accidental?"

Unfazed, Kimble patted Gerard's cheek, using his damp palm. "Nope. But you'll have to try harder than that if you want to gross me out."

Gerard gave him a considering look, then conceded defeat. "I haven't got the energy," he admitted.

"Boy, things must be grim," said Kimble, all sympathy.

"If there's any justice you'll catch this and then see how sympathetic I am," said Gerard.

"At least I'd have the sense not to go spreading it."

"I'm not taking a week off for flu."

"Your fever is even higher today, you could hardly stand up straight, you're sleeping badly and not eating. You'll be a liability in the field and an inconvenience in the office."

Gerard gave him an unnervingly long look. "Cosmo said all that, did he?"

"Not in so many words," hedged Kimble.

"Oh I believe that."

"OK, so that was my appraisal. He's worried about you. So am I," added Kimble pointedly.

There was a lengthy silence from Gerard.

"That appraisal was pretty close to the truth," he allowed with hoarse realism. "OK, it looks like you're stuck with me for the rest of the week."

Kimble's smile was reward enough.


	7. SOLID GROUND

Postponing their plans to have the living-room decorated until Gerard was well again, Kimble put off the decorators. He spent the next two days indulging in the basic human right to squeeze oranges, plump pillows and - despite his best endeavors - look smug because he hadn't been dumb enough to catch flu in August. He had the satisfaction of watching the other man's fever break on Wednesday evening. While Gerard was quieter than usual on Thursday, by Friday it took all Kimble's powers of persuasion to stop him from going back to work.

Kimble listened to his arguments unimpressed. "You want to behave like an over-achieving asshole, that's your privilege," he snapped, left with only a precarious hold on his temper. But there was worry in his eyes as he looked at the other man. Sam was about as hyper as he had ever seen him. In some curious way he had the impression that Gerard was seizing on any distraction from his thoughts, even that of an argument.

Glaring impotently at him Gerard swung away, muttering something that an optimist might have taken for an apology before he strode out into the yard.

Of the view that fresh air and undemanding exercise were just what the other man needed after three days of high fever, Kimble went into his office. There was an article he had been thinking about writing concerning the role of a surgeon in the modern world. Too many of his students seemed wedded to the 'surgeon as god' approach; like too many of his colleagues, truth be told. It was easy to be arrogant when you literally held a man's life in your hands. As surgical techniques advanced a surgeon was increasingly only as good as the team around him.

Driven from his office by hunger, it wasn't until Kimble glanced at his watch that he realized he hadn't seen Sam for more than six hours. Thoughts of lunch forgotten, he eventually tracked the other man down to the most secluded part of the yard, where the woods were thickest. It was easy to see what Sam had been doing while he had been away; the stream which ran above ground through this section had been cleared and all the debris removed. This cool, green haven seemed far removed from the urban sprawl in which they lived. Diffused sunlight filtered through the latticed branches, moss and fern growing on the banks of the stream. There was even the sound of birdsong, although Kimble had no idea what might be making it; about the only bird he could guarantee to recognize was the Thanksgiving turkey.

Oblivious of the fact he was under surveillance, Gerard sat with his back to the trunk of a young sapling, his bare toes cushioned on the vivid, velvety pile formed by the moss. His knees to his chest, his arms were wrapped around his calves. His right hand encircling his scarred left wrist, he was rubbing it in the unconscious way he had when he was deeply troubled about something.

Kimble made no attempt to advertize his presence as he had tried to puzzle out what might be preoccupying the other man. It couldn't be close to the anniversary of the day Sam had been kidnapped because that had happened on his birthday; his only mail had been bills and he hadn't had any calls. Unable to account for his lover's withdrawal but with no sense that he would be welcome, Kimble quietly backed away and returned to the house, understanding better why Sam had wanted to go in to work. It was far easier to avoid uncomfortable thoughts when you were kept busy. In the period between being recaptured and meeting Sam two years later he had used work as a lifeline. But he felt ridiculously excluded that Sam hadn't wanted to confide - or even to be with him.

His growling stomach demanding food, Kimble fixed himself a couple of sandwiches, poured a glass of juice and took them into his office. Gerard wandered in just as he was about to eat. Kimble automatically pushed the plate toward him in an unspoken invitation to share his meal. Their mouths full, they sat in a companionable silence until the sandwiches were finished.

"I'm gonna make some more," Gerard announced, heading out to the kitchen.

Following him, Kimble took a tub of ice-cream from the ice-box, setting two spoons on the table top.

"Is everything OK?" he asked abruptly, blurting out the question he had promised himself he wouldn't ask.

"Sure," said Gerard, avoiding the other man's gaze as he took a healthy bite from one of the sandwiches he had just prepared. Pieces of tomato, shredded lettuce and green pepper fell out of the sides.

"Good," said Kimble, absently munching on a piece of stolen pepper. "Only you seemed kind of preoccupied."

Gerard took a swallow of skimmed milk. "It's nothing."

"OK," said Kimble, helping himself to another piece of pepper.

"It's just that - " Gerard paused, then said in a rush, "Look, today was my dad's birthday. That's all. It's dumb. Most years I hardly think of it."

"Or not when you're working," recognized Kimble.

The brown eyes narrowed, relaxing only when Gerard gave a resigned nod. "I like to keep busy round this period of the year. It's not that I brood about it, just that it was always such a happy time for me. I guess because as a kid I didn't see beneath the surface. He'd invite half the county over and there'd be music and dancing till dawn and the ranch house would be lit up like - "

"The ranch house?"

"Well, of course. I know he and my mother didn't live as man and wife any more but he owned one of the biggest ranches in the county."

Kimble swallowed his surprise, then accepted that to voice it would give him the perfect opening, if Sam wanted to talk about this. "I thought you were talking about Chino Gerard's birthday," he said quietly.

Gerard abruptly left his chair but he paused when he was only a few feet away. "No," he said flatly. He wandered over to take the bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator. A little spilled onto the counter as he poured some into a glass.

"It's dumb," he said slowly, running the tip of his index finger through the small puddle. "Whatever I called him I could never get into the habit of remembering Chino was my father, much as I loved him. And given that's the reason he died - "

"He died because he had an affair with your mother," cut in Kimble quietly. "None of what happened was your fault."

Half-turning, Gerard's emotions were obviously close to the surface. Kimble reminded himself that flu could do that to anyone and resisted the urge to wrap his arms around the other man.

"You can't just turn off your feelings for someone," he pointed out. "Hank loved you and raised you for fourteen years. And you loved him. Maybe you didn't always understand each other but that kind of goes with the territory."

"I know." Gerard flexed his shoulders, as if physically sloughing off the past. "What's that ice cream you've got melting?"

"Cherry Garcia."

"Sold," said Gerard promptly. He returned to sit beside Kimble and by the time they had worked their way down the pint tub he sounded far more like himself.

"My legs feel like jello and all I did was take a walk round the yard," he said as he licked the last trace of ice cream from his spoon in a thoughtful fashion. "I guess I better have a few workouts in the gym. I thought I might start this afternoon." The invitation was clear and Kimble gave an equitable nod.

 

Working on the exercise bike, Kimble kept what he fondly believed to be an unobtrusive eye on the other man while Gerard rounded off a session with a period at the punch bag.

"Damn but I'm sluggish," Gerard panted as he mopped moisture from his face with a forearm gleaming with sweat. "It's not like you to hold back," he added with suspicion as he tossed the training gloves back into the box.

"You warned me what would happen if I said 'I told you so'," said Kimble sadly.

"Yeah, you cowering in submission is quite a sight," agreed Gerard. His smile fading he cast another edgy glance around the gym, which seemed so much darker and uninviting without the mirrored panels on the walls.

Tired of pretending he hadn't noticed Sam's unease since the moment they had come down here, Kimble left the bike and wandered over to him, the thin, scoop-necked, sleeveless tee shirt he wore clinging sweatily to his torso.

"This place is looking dingy. I wondered if we might not go the whole hog and have it done up properly. The right kind of flooring, a gym mat. Get better lighting. Some new mirrors. And over-haul the air-conditioning system. It gets kind of high sometimes." Kimble took a pointed sniff.

Gerard slung an arm around him. He smelt of fresh sweat and male animal, the only color on his face a healthy one. "You were saying?" he murmured.

Enveloped in the scent of his lover, Kimble grinned and patted Gerard's belly. "Come and shower. I'll scrub your back."

As they passed through the kitchen Gerard paused to raid the refrigerator, drinking deeply from a bottle of mineral water before handing it to Kimble.

"I had a word with Cosmo earlier. It seems that taking the last of my backlog of accumulated days into account, I have sixteen days vacation left. I booked them, starting Monday."

Having been about to swallow, Kimble ended up dribbling water down his chin.

"That's great," he breathed, his face alight with pleasure. "Or it will be if we don't drive each other crazy. Do you realize it will be the most time we've ever spent together? In a lump, that is." The dreamy anticipation in his voice made his feelings about the prospect plain, before he began to twitch his long fingers, his lips silently moving.

Gerard eyed him warily, relaxing when he realized Richard was counting; for a bright guy he was terrible at mental arithmetic.

"By the time you have to go back to work my plaster will be ready to come off," said Kimble gleefully. "That's great timing because I'd been wondering what I was going to do with myself."

"That thought had occurred to me," allowed Gerard, straight-faced.

Preoccupied, Kimble missed the subtle insult. "I tried going in but the hospital management made it plain I wasn't to come back until I'm through the physio."

"They probably can't believe their luck that you aren't going to sue," said Gerard. "Which shows how much they know about you."

Kimble shrugged that aside, ideas falling over one another. "What do you want to do? We can go anywhere you like. Or nowhere. Or both. You haven't done any rock climbing since we've been living together. Maybe - "

"Boy, who wound you up?" enquired Gerard. "If I start to miss climbing I'll take it up again but it's kind of solitary. As for our vacation, I don't care what we do so long as we do it together. I kind of like the idea of having sixteen days to drive you crazy."

"Longer if you count weekends. Now the roller-blades have arrived we could try those out," suggested Kimble, who had been longing to since the shipment arrived on Thursday.

"I haven't been along Lake Shore in an age," mused Gerard as they headed into the bathroom.

"Me neither. Or been out on the lake."

"And I've been meaning to visit Oak Park for the Frank Lloyd Wright houses for years. Just never got round to it."

His balled up tee shirt in his hands, his hair sticking up on end, Kimble grinned at him. "Then let's make like the tourists and have a vacation in Chicago. You can come to Wrigley Field with me next week. For an afternoon game. I still prefer those. Though if we took in an evening game we could go onto Wrigley Side for some Blues afterwards. And the Cubs will be playing the Atlanta Bears next week."

"Go to a game," repeated Gerard with disdain.

"To people watch. If you get too bored you can always read. I'll nudge you when you need to leap to your feet and yell. It would be so good to have you there - just once."

Richard looked so ridiculously hopeful that it was a moment before Gerard found his voice. "It's a date," he confirmed, surrendering without further struggle. He had nothing against watching Richard all afternoon.

Since Kimble had confided the truth about his childhood Gerard had been fighting the urge to smother him in affection, as if that could somehow make up for the abuse Richard had suffered. But it explained why, as an adult, he had survived experiences which would have broken many men, and not only survived them but come through them with his well-spring of compassion intact. Not to mention the sly humor that was so much a part of him. Gerard felt so damn proud of his lover that he almost burst not saying so. How could you fail to respect a man who had tried to remake himself for the sake of the wife he loved? But to know Richard trusted him enough to tell him the truth -

Gerard belatedly became aware that, plans fizzing from him, Kimble was still talking.

" - Then we could take in the Art Institute. I haven't been there in an age. And the zoo at Lincoln Park. I love the gorillas. The jazz festival starts at the end of the month. I suppose it depends who'll be playing but we might want to check it out. I can gross you out at the Museum of Surgical Sciences. And maybe a meal at the Everest Room - I'll book. And the beach. And cocktails in the Hancock Tower, watching the lights and - "

Smiling indulgently, Gerard silenced his lover by the simple expedient of kissing him.

"Oh, we can make out in between," Kimble assured him, when his mouth was his own again. He was about to step under the shower when Gerard hauled him back.

"Uh uh, you'll get your plaster wet," he said, retrieving the plastic and tape they now kept in the bathroom. "I'm gonna miss this little ritual," he said, cocking his head to one side to admire his handiwork.

"Pervert," said Kimble.

Gerard gave him an untroubled grin, stepped under the flow of water and drew Kimble after him.

 

Returning home from Evanston and what was undoubtedly the best vegetarian restaurant in the area - not that there was much competition - Gerard was yawning as he shut the front door.

"I'm definitely losing it," he said ruefully. "It isn't even ten thirty."

"This is your first full day. You're still getting over flu. Come on, bed." Hooking a finger under the belt in the waistband of the other man's jeans, Kimble tugged gently.

"OK, OK," mumbled Gerard, flicking off the light at the bottom of the hall.

They ascended the stairs by moonlight, Kimble's hand caressing the small of Gerard's back through the crisp white cotton shirt.

"I enjoyed tonight. That chocolate mousse was the best I've ever had," Kimble mused.

"I gathered that when you had a second helping," said Gerard, amused.

The air-conditioning in their bedroom offered the faintest background hum as they undressed. Giving a leisurely stretch, Gerard grimaced as various sore spots protested.

"In between playing tourist, I need to put some serious work into getting fit."

"Roller-blading, swimming and cycling should all help."

"And you'll be doing all those wearing that plaster, will you?"

Kimble groaned his irritation. "I forgot. Well, I'm roller-blading in this plaster but I guess swimming and cycling are out. We'll just have to jog along Lake Shore instead."

"Not all of it we won't," said Gerard, who found jogging less exciting than watching paint dry. Naked, he padded into the bathroom flexing his stiffened neck as he went.

"I'm glad we went out tonight," mused Kimble, one bare shoulder propped against the door jamb as he paused to enjoy the view. "It was a timely reminder that despite all the media coverage and nonsense written about us, most people don't know who we are and could care less. I can't understand why I let it get so out of perspective."

Having cleaned his teeth, Gerard rinsed and spat neatly down the sink one more time. Raising his head, his mirrored gaze sought Kimble out. "If I've learnt one thing from all this media pressure it's that no outside influence is going to fuck with my head again. I've got you to do that for me," he added, straight-faced.

"Thanks, Sam," said Kimble dryly. Overtaken by a sudden burst of euphoria, he padded over to give the other man a quick, fierce hug, remembering just too late not to squeeze with the arm covered in plaster.

Stoic, Gerard didn't bother complaining. It happened so often he had almost got used to it. Besides, a few scrapes were better than no hugs. Not that he would have admitted as much. He glanced at Kimble. Who was he kidding? He didn't need to tell Richard a thing.

"I guess we'll just have to appear in public together more often," Gerard mused as he put toothpaste onto Kimble's brush for him.

Kimble tried not to notice how Sam squeezed the tube in the middle. "Why? Not that I'm complaining."

"So we lose our novelty value."

"In some moods I wouldn't put it past you," acknowledged Kimble. His brush poised, he stared at his reflection. "The next time the press print a picture of me I don't want to look anything like it. I'm going to have a change of image. Maybe even my hair color," he mused, fingering a strand in a thoughtful fashion. "I only ever dyed my hair once, and that was when I was on the run. It was weird not to recognize my own reflection straight off. Disorientating. What did you think of me with my hair darker?" he added matter-of-factly.

His wistful gaze on Richard's glossy hair, it didn't occur to Gerard to lie. "It made you look younger," he said bluntly.

"Because it hid the gray, I suppose. That wasn't what I meant. Did you like it?"

Gerard shook his head.

Kimble pursed his lips. "It was just a thought," he said philosophically, but he sounded faintly disappointed.

"Richard, if you want to dye your hair green or wear a ring through your nose you go right ahead," said Gerard as he got into bed.

His absent gaze on the play of muscle in Gerard's thigh, it was a moment before Kimble thought to reply. "You mean you'll still love me anyway?" he said soulfully. It was too dark to make batting his eyelashes worthwhile.

"Hell, no. But you do what you want and risk it."

There was silence for approximately three seconds before Kimble moved. Unfortunately he forgot the plaster he was wearing. On this occasion Gerard arched as it scraped across his nipples, the soft sound he made caught between pain and pleasure. Bending his head, Kimble got to work to redress the balance; there was something addictive about making a strong man whimper.

"You mind telling me why you're in such a hurry?" enquired Gerard the following morning as he was hustled through breakfast and out the front door.

"To change my image."

"Great," sighed Gerard with gloom. But he tossed Kimble the keys to the Ferrari.

"You hate being driven."

"So do you," Gerard pointed out. "Let's get this over with. While you're being dyed green I'll get a haircut. I could use one."

About to drive off, Kimble paused to scrunch a handful of the thick dark hair that grew so profusely at the back of Gerard's head. "I suppose. Though I like it this length."

 

While Gerard had his hair restored to neatness, if not as short as he had intended after looking at Richard's wistful expression, Kimble opted for a restyle which left his hair cropped in two inch spikes, very different from his previous glossy look.

Subduing the impulse to run his hand over the velvety-looking pile until they were alone, Gerard was surprised by how much he liked Richard's new look - once he was over the first shock.

About to pay the bill, Kimble paused when he saw a discreet sign on the wall. "You do ear-piercing? Can someone pierce my ear now?"

The simple preparations were made, and Gerard given a ringside seat, although he carefully glanced away rather than watch the procedure, discovering he was squeamish where his lover was concerned.

Having completed all the explanations, the young man who had attended to Kimble let his professional mask slip as he completed the revised bill. "You're Doctor Kimble, aren't you?" Oblivious to a look from Gerard that would have withered cactus, his attention was fully on the doctor.

A guarded look on his face, Kimble nodded. "That's right. Do I know you?" While Gerard did not move, Richard suddenly had the sense that the other man was shielding him.

"I guess not," conceded the younger man wryly. "I mean, I've got good cause to remember you after the way you saved my Pa's leg. You operated on him six years ago. The fifteenth of June. He was broadsided by some bum and - " He shivered. "It was the worst day of my life. Though thanks to you it ended just fine."

Kimble nodded. "What's your father's name and what exactly was the problem?"

After being given a few more details he remembered enough to make the younger man beam with pleasure.

"He's doing great. You'd never know there'd been anything wrong. Are you two guys a couple?" he added,out-of-the-blue, gesturing between Gerard and Kimble.

"That's right," said Gerard, who was standing as still as stone.

The younger man was oblivious to the danger signals. "I figured as much. That's cool."

Taken aback, Gerard relaxed with the faintest of smiles. "Yeah, it is," he said.

As they headed for their favorite deli to buy food for a picnic lunch Kimble gave his companion a fond look. "That was one hell of a tip you left him. What for? Even you could have punched a hole in my ear."

"I didn't do it for that," said Gerard serenely.

"Aha. So it was because he thought you were cool," crowed Kimble. Since he and Sam had become lovers he had been called a number of things; cool had never been one of them.

Gerard shook his head. "No, though I am. It was because he remembered to thank you for making his dad well. I like polite kids."

"No," said Kimble, undeceived. "You just like people who make me happy."

Growling something incomprehensible, Gerard headed into the deli. Smiling to himself, Kimble followed him, absently fiddling with the gold stud he now wore.

 

They took their picnic to Lincoln Park, although they didn't linger over it because Gerard had decided that now Kimble had taken the plunge, he needed some more decorative studs for when his ear had healed.

"Now you've had the damn thing pierced, get something people can see. I like this one," he announced, selecting a beautifully cut one carat diamond which was simply set in twenty two carat gold.

Kimble blinked. "You're going to buy it for me?" he asked, taken aback.

"It's that or having you telling people I'm cheap," explained Gerard, straight-faced.

"But that's a diamond stud."

"Appropriate," said Gerard.

With Sam in this mood, Kimble had the sense to give in gracefully.

By the time they had walked down the rest of Oak Street he had been lavished with gifts.

"I feel like your toyboy," he said, with no audible trace of concern.

"Boy, no," said Gerard with decision. "Though I still think you could have worn those leather trousers out of the shop."

"In this heat?"

"There is that."

"I can't believe I let you buy me leather trousers," muttered Kimble, remembering the indulgent expression of their assistant.

"I can," said Gerard with the smugness of one who had effortlessly won the allegiance of that young man with what Richard had crossly muttered was a shameless use of charm. "Can we go home, only any time now I'm going to surrender to the urge to kiss you and - "

"Wait till we get home," said Kimble sternly, having been disconcerted to discover he wasn't the laidback one of this partnership. Sam wasn't the sort of personality suited to living a lie. About the only thing which would make him stay in a closet for even a few minutes would be the chance to make out.

"OK," said Gerard, but his twitching mouth betrayed his amusement.

Mumbling under his breath, Kimble drove them home, edgily aware that Sam was watching him the whole time.

 

Before the weekend was out Kimble was almost regretting his change of image, although at least he was in no doubt Gerard still found him attractive. As they lay quiet together Gerard would run his palm over and over his newly cropped hair, as if caressing some favorite pet.

"What is it with you and my hair?" Kimble enquired, not because he was complaining but because even Sam wasn't usually this tactile.

"It's like - It feels like - I enjoy touching it," Gerard said, unnecessarily.

"I could tell," said Kimble dryly. He casually moved his head out the way. His earlobe was smarting and sore-looking, not from having his ear pierced or the gold stud he now wore in it but because Sam kept sucking the lobe and running his tongue under the stud. It wasn't that Kimble really objected, just that he didn't think he was cut out to be a sex-object. But he decided not to announce as much for a day or two.

 

The following morning Gerard stirred awake, returning Kimble's kiss before he had opened his eyes. When he did, he shot away with a start before looking abashed.

"I guess this new look does take some getting used to," conceded Kimble with a grin. "Do you still feel like an adulterer?" he teased.

"Jeez, I wondered who the hell it was for a second," Gerard muttered, unconsciously wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Highly amused, Kimble just sat there, wearing a huge grin.

By this time Gerard was awake enough to give him a dark look. "Sympathy I might expect. Still, it brought some much needed excitement into our banal sex-life," he mused. Rolling to escape a slap on the butt he misjudged his closeness to the edge of the mattress and fell off the bed.

"Serves you right," said Kimble, staring down at him.

"A little concern wouldn't go amiss."

"You were swearing too much to be hurt. If you're feeling energetic we can start roller-blading today."

 

That evening both men were walking like eighty year olds. They'd had a ball but had overdone things, exercising muscles which had been enjoying a quiet life of late. Kimble had needed to perform some odd contortions to avoid falling on the arm already in plaster.

"That's aching, isn't it," said Gerard shrewdly, gesturing to Kimble's healing wrist.

"Not much. Anyway, it's my own fault."

While Gerard refrained from the obvious comment, he looked plenty. "That's the last roller-blading I'm doing until that plaster's off and you're back at work."

The tone was the one there was no point in arguing with and Kimble gave him a look of disgust, then wrinkled his nose, unwillingly conceding the sense of it.

"Tub," said Gerard with decision.

Remembering the pathetic looking figure of only a week ago, Kimble could barely contain his satisfaction as he looked at the healthy male animal crackling with energy who stood in front of him. "Are we going to have one of those manly bubble-free tubs or can we be hedonistic?" he enquired.

Gerard shook his head sadly. "I never thought you'd kick a guy when he was down. What am I saying? You're Richard Kimble, of course you would. OK, bubbles it is."

They eased into the hot water with murmurs of appreciation, sinking down and stretching out, shoulder to shoulder at one end of the huge tub. They lay in a contented silence, letting the heat soak into their sore muscles.

"I'll never understand why we don't have those bathhouses they have in Japan," Gerard murmured, opening his weighted eyelids only with some effort.

"You want me to top up the water again?" asked Kimble, rubbing his chin.

"No, I'm gonna fall asleep any second now and I'd rather be in bed when I do it."

 

After a creaky start in the morning they were moving normally by the time they made themselves breakfast, weaving contentedly in and out of each other's space.

Sipping his second cup of coffee Gerard idly watched his companion. He wasn't sure if he was noticing more because Richard had told him how his jaw had got broken or if Richard was doing it more but he seemed to be spending a lot of time fingering his chin. Like now.

"Does that ever give you any trouble?" Gerard asked matter-of-factly, flicking his own chin with the side of his thumb when Kimble gave him a look of puzzlement.

"No, it's fine. Just not quite so pretty as Cosmo's reconstruction," said Kimble easily. Strange that after all his years of silence it had felt so right to tell Sam the truth, just kind of sad he hadn't been able to be completely honest with Helen. Not her fault, or his, just a fact of life created by circumstances beyond their control.

Despite the reassurance he had given, Richard looked so lost that it drove Gerard to mention the subject he had forbidden himself. "I guess we both carry scars from our past," he said slowly.

"Are you all right?"

Roused from his reverie, Gerard blinked. "Sure. Why?"

Kimble shook his head, unwilling to make a big deal of it.

"What?" asked Gerard patiently.

"It's just that when something's bothering you - You tend to rub that scar on your wrist," said Kimble.

Disconcerted, Gerard looked down only to discover he was doing just that. For a moment it made him uncomfortable to realize how well Richard knew him, before he saw how comforting it could be, too.

He shrugged. "Yes, I do," he acknowledged, willing himself to sound at ease with the admission. "Though I don't always know I'm doing it. Like now. I was just - Remembering, I guess."

"This period around your dad's birthday must be difficult," said Kimble, the expression in the dark eyes all the spur he needed to speak, despite the obvious danger of getting it wrong. "You'll have worked out for yourself that your father left you in that cellar because it was the only thing he could think of to keep you out of harm's way. To him that house was a place where he'd been happy. A place where you would be safe. The last thing he would have wanted was for you to get involved in the gun-fight. And he'd have known you would have been torn between him and Chino. Given his emotional state it just never occurred to him to explain. Of course it would never have occured to him that he might not survive."

Gerard was so still that he didn't seem to be breathing. Convinced he had blown it, Kimble saw Sam jolt, as if he had just received an electric shock.

"No," Gerard said in an odd voice that it hurt to hear, "that explanation never occurred to me." His expression nakedly revealing, he looked shell-shocked.

"I did wonder," Kimble allowed.

Getting up from the table Gerard paced aimlessly, as if needing some outlet for the energy coursing through him. "I never let myself remember exactly what happened," he said into the silence, his voice tight with tension. "I wouldn't even let myself think about it, let alone talk it through. Not even with Dave or Elise. I made a real good job of blocking out all but the basic facts." The hand which was flattened against the wall contracted before it relaxed again.

Kimble went over to him but before he could make contact Gerard was already on the move.

"I'm going to take a drive," he said abruptly, heading for the door. He paused on the threshold, but did not turn around. "You want to come?"

"No, you go. I'll be here when you get home." Kimble was proud of his casual tone. He felt rewarded for his self-sacrifice when Gerard's shoulders relaxed before he left the room.

A few minutes later Kimble heard the gutsy growl of the Ferrari's engine being warmed, then Sam was gone.

 

Unable to settle to anything the day seemed endless, the scenarios which played in Kimble's mind all ending unhappily. By the time the phonecall came he had mentally buried Sam more times than he cared to admit. His hand was shaking so much he almost dropped the receiver.

"Hi, Richard. It's Sam," the roughened voice added unnecessarily.

"Yeah," said Kimble, marvelling at how normal he sounded. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd got to."

"Me too, for a while. I just started to drive, found myself close to O'Hare and took the first flight out."

"Oh," said Kimble blankly, trying to remember all the places within nine hours flying time of Chicago.

"I think I'm back in Oklahoma. I flew into Little Rock and - "

"What the hell did you want to go to Arkansas for?" blurted out Kimble in astonishment.

"It seemed a good idea at the time," Gerard said wryly. "I told you, I got on the first flight. I guess it could have been worse. I hired a four-wheel drive and took off. I left the Interstate as soon as I could and I've been travelling round the back roads ever since, right down on the border. It occurred to me you might be wondering what had become of me."

Kimble stretched out on the couch, as boneless with relief as if he had been filetted. "You've been gone a while."

"I know. I didn't intend to. I don't know what the hell I intended."

"It's OK. You sound beat."

"Yeah. I thought I'd find a motel, crash for the night and come back tomorrow morning."

"Sure. Or I could pack a bag and fly out and join you. We never did get to enact our own private road movie and we have three weeks vacation to play with."

"But what about our plans to play tourist in Chicago?"

"It's not going anywhere," said Kimble cheerfully. "We can go where we want, do what we like. We could plan every inch of the trip or stick a pin in the map. Anything we want."

"True. Will you fly out tonight?"

"Of course," said Kimble, heartened by the livelier note to Gerard's voice. Remembering the hurt confusion on Sam's face before he had left he was prepared to hire a private plane if necessary. "Just tell me which airport will be the closest to you."

"Hold on, I need to check the map." After some discussion, they agreed a destination. "I'll meet you at the airport. Wear a red rose," Gerard added in something approaching his usual tone.

"Would that be between my teeth?" enquired Kimble, smiling.

 

Because of a delay at O'Hare it was gone midnight by the time they met up. While his smile was warm, Gerard didn't say much as he relieved Kimble of the bags he had brought. They selected the first hotel they saw, by good fortune picking the most luxurious. For a while the doctor wondered if he had done the right thing coming out here. He had been braced for storms - the messenger of bad tidings was traditionally killed - but rather than turning on him, Sam seemed to have retreated into himself. Kimble reminded himself it was early days yet. He had opened a real Pandora's Box for Sam, reviving a lot of difficult memories and emotions. At least Sam had wanted him here, that had to count for something.

When they went to bed Gerard turned to him in the darkness with a gruffly worded one-line request.

Smiling, Kimble kissed him high on the forehead, where the dark hair was beginning to thin. "Like you have to ask," he mocked affectionately. Taking Sam into a loving hug, he kept him in the loose circle of his arm until he felt the other man relax against him.

 

They were on the road by seven the following morning. Leaving it to Gerard to talk or not as he preferred, the drive was conducted in silence for the most part, and well above the fifty-five mile an hour speed limit.

Leaving the freeway as soon as he could, Gerard began to weave along a network of back roads. The landscape became increasingly rural, small communities sited at the crossroads and usually boasting no more than a general store, service station and a couple of churches. Isolated farmsteads dotted the horizon. There was little traffic, little sign of any life at all, an air of hopelessness over the sun-scorched land. The fierce heat earlier in the Summer had left its mark; many small farmers were facing ruin after the crops had failed and livestock died.

Gerard began to talk on their second day on the road, intermittent staccato bursts of thought.

"Whatever he'd done, he still felt like my father. I couldn't make the mental transition."

"That's hardly surprising," said Kimble quietly.

"It surprised the hell out of me. It was months before I could actually say his name. While I puzzled the hell out of him, he never took our differences as a personal affront. I never once - " Gerard shrugged. "I never doubted that he loved me."  
"He deserved better than the memorial I gave him," he added a few minutes later.

Kimble had the sense not to say anything.

Fourteen miles down the road, Gerard slowed their pace to a more comfortable speed.

"Thanks for not pointing out what a sanctimonious asshole I was recommending you go for counselling. What the hell would I know?"

"You're handling this," Kimble pointed out, wishing Sam would take off the Ray-Bans which turned him into a sinister looking stranger.

The expressive mouth twisted. "How? By running?"

"Pull over," said Kimble.

"What, here?"

"You're afraid you'll back up traffic?" mocked Kimble. Behind and ahead of them the sweep of the road was deserted; they hadn't seen a vehicle in either direction for ten minutes. They hadn't seen anything living for over five, just some long dead roadkill.

"I can talk and drive," said Gerard crankily.

"He walks, he talks, he breathes. Just stop the car. I want a soda and the cans are in the cooler bag, which is in the back."

Muttering silently to himself, Gerard pulled over; he kept the engine running so they wouldn't lose the air-conditioning while he located the cooler bag, got back in the front and silently set the bag on the floor. His look suggested that Kimble had better damn well drink his drink.

Kimble did his best to look cowed into submission but ended up grinning through the fly-spattered windshield.

There was a pop and hiss before cold froth cascaded over his bare thigh. Kimble refused to be distracted. Leaning across the shift stick, he placed his hands on either side of Gerard's cross face and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly and with evident enjoyment. Then he took off Gerard's Ray-Bans and set them on the dash.

"I miss seeing your eyes," he explained to Gerard's silent look of query. "Don't glare at me. I'm serious. Why are you so mad because I tell you you're doing fine? You think you'd be the man I love if this didn't affect you? There's no right or wrong way for you to deal with this, just what's right for you. And so long as you let me hang around I don't have a problem with that."

"I don't appreciate being humored," growled Gerard, his shoulders hunched.

"That's a first," noted Kimble, twitching the chilled can of Diet Coke from the other man's hand and taking a long swallow.

"Sexual favors don't count."

"Really?"

"Hey, I'm not that easy."

"So the offer of a blowjob on a backroad to nowhere won't tempt you?"

His grin unforced by this time, Gerard shook his head at his companion, just before he swooped down, his tongue swiping up the droplets of Coke still caught on the sunlit hairs on Kimble's thighs, travelling far higher than was necessary; high enough to win a deep sigh from the other man. Then he sat up, got comfortable, refastened his seat belt, put his sunglasses back on and set off down the road.

After fidgeting for a while Kimble finished the can of Coke.

"That was a low trick to play," Gerard conceded into the silence. "I'll make it up to you tonight."

"Trust me, you will," Kimble promised him cheerfully.

 

While Gerard didn't refer to the kidnap or his feelings for the man he had believed to be his father, he was more relaxed as they talked idly or sat in a comfortable silence. He ate with evident relish and slept peacefully all night in the protective curve of his lover's body.

While it wasn't over yet - if it ever would be - Kimble knew Gerard was dealing with this new information which had thrown so much out of kilter for him.

By morning Gerard was taking more of an interest in their surroundings, his nose wrinkling with disdain as he lay in bed watching a large cockroach quarter the carpet. "Jeez, this place is a dump. My poor Richard. What am I doing to you?"

Having fastened his cut-offs, Kimble padded over to kiss the top of his head, before nudging it with his knuckles. "Get it into your thick skull. My home is where you are. This is fine. Though less wildlife would be good. Hurry up and shower. The diner down the road comes highly recommended."

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Let me guess. By whoever manages this place?"

Kimble's face fell. "Well, yeah. Damn, and I'm hungry."

 

The diner was spotlessly clean, appetizing smells wafting over to them as they walked in; the place was packed. They wasted no time in ordering.

Pouring maple syrup onto his waffles, Gerard licked the tip of his index finger clea. He looked up to find Kimble watching him. "I know I'm too preoccupied to be good company but I'm glad you came out here," he said quietly.

"Me, too," said Kimble.

Gerard fiddled with his fork. "What you told me, it's freed me up. I can let myself remember things. Things I thought I'd forgotten. It's like a floodgate's opened."

"It must be. You'll have a lot to sort through - from an adult's perspective."

Gerard's gaze was on the peaceful scene outside the window of the diner. "I was yelling and hollering while he cuffed me to the handle of that freezer. Then I started to cry. And he came over and he kissed me, right between the eyes, and he told me he'd be back for me."

Kimble's hand covered Gerard's in a gesture so instinctive that he wasn't even aware of making it.

"I was so scared I almost pissed my pants. Given what you had to point out to me it's obvious he was trying to reassure me rather than threatening to come back and kill me. I wish - "

At the approach of their waitress with fresh coffee, Gerard fell silent, then absently watched the sway of her narrow hips as she walked away. "There's nothing new about wanting to rewrite history, I guess. You've let your eggs get cold."

"And your pancakes. We'll reorder. Maybe I will think about seeing a therapist," Kimble added out of the blue.

Gerard looked up. "You think it might help?"

"God knows," Kimble said frankly, "but I can't find a way past - I got too used to blocking it out, I guess. I have too many unresolved issues. I like to face up to things."

"I could have put money on that."

Their voices were so quiet they barely carried in the booth they occupied, the diner buzzing with conversation.

"Only I don't ever want - At the back of my mind every time I lose my temper I wonder if I'm going to turn into my old man. I won't hit, Sam. I won't." His voice shaking, Kimble fumbled for his cup, wrapped his fingers around it, and brought it to his mouth, but he set it down without drinking from it.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he said blankly.

"The heart," said Gerard without sentiment. "Maybe those blocks are starting to ease up for you, too. As for worrying about lashing out physically, if you were prone to doing that you would have rearranged my face while you were in protective custody," he pointed out placidly.

"Don't think I wasn't tempted," said Kimble with feeling.

They smiled in perfect amity.  
That day, as they had the day before, they moved between Arkansas and Oklahoma and back again. In this area the Texan border was never far away and Kimble became aware that Gerard was flirting with it, always sheering away before they came too close. A heat haze shimmered on the road ahead of them, a poor yield of maize dying in the fields they drove between. Ranchero music was playing on the car radio.

He looked up in time to see a sign announcing the State line was up ahead grow closer and closer. Kimble was careful to keep his gaze on the road ahead, although he relaxed as he felt the Cherokee slow to a standstill. There was an oven blast of heat as the door opened, then closed again. For a moment Gerard remained by the door before he briskly strode down the road and into Texas. He carried on walking for another fifty yards or so, then turned around, walked back and turned the four-wheeler on the still empty road.

"There was no point going any further," he said, as if Kimble had spoken. "I just needed to know I could do it."

Kimble nodded his comprehension. "Are you sure you don't want to go any further?" he asked as they continued to sit there.

Having been whistling tunelessly between his teeth, Gerard turned to him with a relaxed smile. "I'm positive. There's nothing left for me in Texas. I'm making my peace with my ghosts and my home's with you." He took a bottle of water from the cooler bag and they sat drinking from it, the only sign of life an armadillo trundling across the road some way ahead. When they'd finished drinking Gerard set off back the way they had come.

Ten miles down the road, he said, "I feel like I got my dad back. That's down to you. So thank you, Richard."

Kimble rubbed the other man's thigh. "You're very welcome, Sam."

"Then stop smiling at me like that or I'm liable to drive off the road."

"You could always try looking where you're going," Kimble pointed out blandly.

"I figured it couldn't be long before you started on my driving," nodded Gerard, but his mouth insisted on curling upwards.

"Oh, I've got a whole list planned," Kimble assured him.

"I believe you."

While nothing was discussed, after eleven hours of driving Gerard was stiffly flexing his neck and shoulders so Kimble gave directions which would lead to a motel on the industrial fringes of the city. Between the thrift shops, liquor stores and boarded up houses it was obvious the area wasn't flourishing.

"We can do better," said Gerard, eyeing the drooping sign with its missing M.

"It'll be fine," said Kimble rashly.

 

Their room smelt of cleaning chemicals and roach spray, whose effectiveness could be judged by the fact they were watching roaches move purposefully up the wall on the other side of the room.

"Not quite the five-star luxury you were hoping for," said Gerard wryly.

The bed fixed to the floor, their backs to the thin wall, they could hear the spastic rhythm of the bed springs in the adjoining room. The air-conditioning broken, they were sweating onto the sheets and each other.

"I've known worse," defended Kimble, undeceived by that oblique approach. "Just hush and maybe we can get some sleep."

As he flicked off the light the noises from the adjoining room intensified. They were oddly erotic.

"I suppose - " began Gerard.

"Definitely not."

"But - "

"If I can stand a night of celibacy, so can you."

"So it's not getting to you at all?"

"Absolutely not." A hiss escaped Kimble as a palm settled over his groin, massaging what it found there.

"It's a pity you didn't teach your dick to lie," murmured Gerard with a valedictory pat. "Sleep well, Richard."

"Sam - "

"Uh uh. I've lost the mood."

 

Kimble gave a soft groan into the sweaty darkness. "How much longer, oh lord," he mumbled in heartfelt tones, the more so because he was fiercely turned on by the sounds coming from the adjacent room.

"About thirty seconds if you'd stop being pig-headed and let us scratch our itch," said the pragmatist beside him.

"I can handle it," insisted Kimble.

A soft snort of amusement escaped Gerard, who had been fighting to subdue his laughter ever since they came to bed. The cheap blinds let in enough light to give him clear sight of the glare being directed at him.

"I refuse to make out in a room where the walls are so thin you can hear the sweat popping out of their pores," snapped Kimble, wondering if anyone had actually died from blue balls.

"It could be worse," said Gerard philosophically.

Two seconds later the man in the next room upped his rhythmic grunting, adding some explicit instructions. Kimble swore with quiet feeling and pulled a pillow over his face. The mattress began to quiver. Flicking on the lamp situated above the draylon headboard, he cast a look of suspicion at his companion. But Gerard was only laughing silently beside him, a clenched hand over his mouth to muffle the sound as the woman continued her professional encouragement, her impatience thinly-veiled by this time.

"What?" demanded Kimble, sorely-tried. "You mind telling me what's got you so amused?"

Waving his hand in a hopeless fashion, it was some time before Gerard was sober enough for coherent speech. "I just hope the time never comes when I hear that bored note in your voice."

"You mean you missed it all these months?"

Gerard gave him a friendly cuff. "It's your fault we're lying here with aching balls. Boy, who would have thought it," he mused fondly. "Richard Kimble outraged because a couple of consenting adults are having sex."

"A couple!" Kimble sat up in outrage. "Sam, that hooker next door is on her sixth john."

Gerard gave him a patient look. "That's not the same hooker, Richard."

"Somehow that doesn't help," Kimble informed him through gritted teeth. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not but he was willing to swear the wall behind them was beginning to shake.

"You've gotta admire his stamina," said Gerard. "Given everything that's been going on next door I still don't understand why we can't make out. At least I won't be yellin' 'Ride 'em, cowboy!' like that first guy." Laughter overtaking him once more, he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the grayish pillow.

He grunted as Richard's weight covered him, pinning him to the mattress. The other man's dick prodded the sweat-slick cleft of his ass and he gave a wriggle of encouragement, managing to insinuate a hand under himself to protect the head of his penis with his cupped palm. The outraged mutterings in his ear turned to low-voiced coaxings.

"You've changed your tune," noted Gerard smugly. "In case you'd forgotten, I don't need any persuading. I'm not the one who went all cute and shy in case anyone heard us making out. I'm not the one who said - "

"Just say yes," Kimble advised him in a growly voice down his ear.

"I'll think about it."

"You've got five seconds." Any threat was lost when Kimble groaned as Gerard deliberately pressed his butt against him.

"Then what?" asked Gerard, enjoying the sensation of being pinned by the other man, even if it was causing him breathing difficulties. He tended to forget that Richard was built like a brick outhouse.

"Then I lose the urge," said Kimble.

"With your dick conducting some invisible orchestra? I don't think so."

Bending his head, Kimble nipped Gerard's earlobe sharply enough to make his point.

"Richard, get off me before I have to throw you off," said Gerard provocatively. While he wasn't in the mood for more self-analysis, he knew what he wanted. And the mood Richard was in he might just get his wish.

"You're welcome to try," scoffed Kimble, wholly confident of his power to subdue the other man. Realizing he was making it difficult for Gerard to breathe, he moved until he was lightly balanced over the small of the prone man's back.

Gerard's head turned on the pillow. "You want to put it to the test?" The silky note in his voice was its own warning.

"While I'm handicapped with a plaster cast?" returned Kimble.

"Compensate," Gerard advised him, seconds before he took advantage of his lover being off-guard to haul himself up the mattress between Kimble's parted thighs.

Making a small sound of surprise, Kimble jumped him, going all out to master his companion. There was no anger in the contest but there was something almost violent in the fight to gain the upper hand - a determination and ruthlessness usually reserved for the workplace. Far from being hampered by his cast, Kimble took advantage of it.

The breath knocked out of him, one arm trapped beneath him, the other pinned in the small of his back by Richard's knee, Gerard fought to free himself. It was with a sense of astonishment that he discovered he genuinely couldn't escape restraint, dominated by Kimble's superior weight and muscle power.

Gerard's eyes shot open. It hadn't occurred to him that he might not be in control, whatever the outward appearance of the fight.

"Had enough?" panted Kimble, riding out the other man's struggles with ease.

"Go fuck yourself," growled Gerard, trying to cover just how vulnerable he felt. He had always known Richard was a powerful man. He had even fantasized about being bested by him, but in his heart of hearts he hadn't believed it was possible. Now it had happened he felt oddly defenseless and weak in a way he had never felt before. Richard's strength seemed to sap his own and his heart pounded, blood thumping at his temples as adrenaline raced through his system; his breathing was reduced to ragged gasps for air. He thrust back, testing Richard's resolve; heat flooded his groin when the other man simply tightened his grip with a ruthlessness which sent Gerard's pulse into overdrive.

His bones turning to jello, his brain shut down as the blood rushed south again, saving him from having to analyze the peculiar reaction he was having to being restrained. He pushed back to meet the full capacity of the other man's strength, revelling in it when Kimble settled over him again, but this time with nothing teasing in his mastery. Strong fingers closed on the back of his neck in brief warning. A quiver ran through Gerard when the rock-hard dick stabbed between his buttocks, blindly seeking out the heart of him.

Frantic with need, Gerard thrust back. Kimble shifted position slightly and Gerard's breath caught when something cold jetted into him. Without further preliminaries Kimble was entering him, heedless of what resistance Gerard's eager flesh might offer. A few hard thrusts later and Kimble was pulling out. For the life of him Gerard couldn't bite back his sound of loss.

"Turn over, I want to see your face when I have you," said Kimble.

Captive to the growled command, Gerard automatically shifted his seemingly weighted body, his eyes wide and black as he gazed at the man restraining him with nothing more than his will. It didn't occur to him to be anything but obedient to the demands made on him as Kimble rearranged his limbs. Gerard was still absorbing the myriad strangeness of being mastered.

Bent to his lover's pleasure, a soft sound escaped him when Kimble entered him for a second time, in a casual, ruthless show of dominance which made Gerard arch, one hand convulsing over the bunched sheet.

Concentrating on his own needs, Kimble established a brutal rhythm.

Little 'huffs' of sound driven from him, Gerard's legs slipped from Kimble's shoulders to wrap around the other man's torso, tightening as if he could fuse them even tighter together. Kimble's hips snapped back and forth as he took what he wanted, his hot, blank gaze burning into the man beneath him. The beautiful mouth was thinned and tight-lipped, the jaw set. There was a driven intensity to him that transformed his face, making this Kimble a stranger.

Gerard's less than steady hand cupped the side of the set face. "Richard?" The husky uncertainty in his voice ended in a small grunt as sparks of pleasure shot through him whether he wanted them or not.

"Oh yeah, you got the name right," Kimble confirmed tightly. Leaning down, he pressed a hard kiss to the slack and partly opened mouth, owning that as he owned everything else about the other man. "And you're Sam and you're mine." With that statement of ownership came recognition, the mouth gentling even while the intensity of need and possession remained.

It was then that Gerard released his last barrier and gave himself over completely to Richard: his lover. When he came he barely made a sound; his mouth opened, as if to cry out, but only a soft gasp escaped him. His climax triggered Kimble's, who came with a primitive howl of triumph. Dazed and spent, Gerard felt the echo of it course through him long after the sound itself had faded.

Welded together by sweat, Kimble laboriously eased from Gerard's body. On all fours, he stared down at the large-eyed, soft-mouthed man staring up at him with a look he wasn't sure how to interpret but which was worrying the hell out of him. "Sam? Are you all right?"

Gerard rubbed the knuckles of his hand down Kimble's cheek. "Oh yeah." There was an audible break in his husky voice. "You know I love you, don't you? I mean, really love you."

Kimble blinked. "Are you drunk?" he demanded. He didn't recognize this man stripped of all defenses.

Free from care, Gerard's smile was like a caress. "Only on you. Don't worry, I'm not. I know you'll keep me safe." The trust on his face was absolute.

A number of emotions assaulting him in quick succession, Kimble avoided having to deal with them by leaving the bed to clean up. He returned with a couple of towels, one warm and moist, one dry, with which to tend to the other man.

"Mmn, that's so good," purred Gerard, bonelessly moving whichever way he was directed.

Nuzzling the small of his back, Kimble settled beside him. "Will the real Sam Gerard please step forward," he begged but despite himself a trace of anxiety shone through.

Gerard linked their fingers, lazily sucking the tip of each one. "Stop worrying. I'm fine. Never better. Make the most of this. I doubt it will last."

"Is there anything you want?"

"Just you, a hug and some peace and quiet so I can go to sleep before the entertainment next door sets up again."

"You've got it," Kimble assured him, just before he covered Gerard's shoulder with fervent kisses. "I love you."

"That's nice. But will you respect me in the morning?"

Kimble's head shot up, his look of consternation changing to recognition within seconds. "I can't believe I fell for that," he muttered with chagrin.

"I can," said Gerard smugly. There was pure mischief in his grin. "Now go to sleep."

Kimble propped himself up on one elbow. "Sam?"

Gerard mumbled a vague affirmative and wriggled closer. Subsiding, Kimble tucked an arm over him, as if to reassure himself of where the other man was, and closed his eyes.

By the time the light above them flickered and went out both men were asleep, Gerard already snoring softly.

 

Sounds of an altercation from outside woke Kimble, although it took him a few seconds to appreciate where he was, and why. The who he was with wasn't a problem - there was only one possible answer, even if he hadn't had his nose pressed to Gerard's armpit. Delivering the lightest of kisses to the soft hair tufting there, Kimble eased onto his back. Last night had been - Oh yeah. It really had.

Signals from below made themselves known and he grimaced, not wanting to move because he was watching the man sprawled in the abandonment of sleep. The grayish sheet hauled up past his ears, his face buried in the pillow, about all that was visible of Gerard's head were a few tufts of hair.

The need to pee overtaking his wave of sentiment, Kimble padded off to the bathroom. The power shower wasn't, the water was tepid and the sink cracked but he hummed happily to himself as he showered, shaved and changed into his last set of clean clothes. Gerard was still asleep when he emerged from the bathroom. Now he was fully awake he wanted Sam awake, but not to the point where he was prepared to disturb him. Sam had earned the rest.

Looking appallingly smug at the memories, Kimble sank onto what was misleadingly called an easy chair. Legs outstretched, his bare feet propped on the bed, he studied the sleeping man. Sam had turned onto his back, one arm curved over his head; the sheet trapped around his thighs, he was now bare to mid-hip. While the position didn't look very comfortable the face was serene, a happy slant to the mouth. The thick, indecently long eyelashes masked the eyes which brought Sam's face so vividly to life. Sleep had eased the grooves and creases created by the elements, the years and the emotions Sam had experienced but rather than looking younger he just looked more vulnerable.

Kimble frowned. He wasn't sure if he liked Sam vulnerable. It was a stinging reminder of his own failures. He should never have gone all out, he could have really hurt Sam.

Then he recalled the Sam of last night; the man who had given the illusion of submissiveness by suddenly melting under him, yet who had driven him on; the man who had made him feel like a god. He'd never seen Sam like that, had never before experienced that incredible sense of power which went far beyond mere physical strength. He'd felt more of a man than he ever had and - He didn't intend to worry about what that might signify.

His gaze caressing the sleeping man, soaking up the rightness of watching over him, Kimble wondered how Sam had felt about what had occurred last night. Then he realized he knew. That was how it had all begun - up against their front door. His belly melted under an onslaught of heat as he remembered the sensation of an unleashed Sam Gerard grinding against him. The first time - He was forgetting. Sam hadn't been unleashed, not completely. Even then, in an extremity of desperation, there had been an element of self-control. Kimble gave the sleeping man a speculative look which soon turned into a fatuous smile as Gerard contentedly mumbled 'Richard' in his sleep and rubbed his face against his own arm.

Who wouldn't love this man; this rough, tough man with his tender mouth and generous heart. That Sam had a biteable ass and a sense of humor that tickled his own just added to the joy of it.

Studying the unguarded face in front of him a wave of possessiveness swept over Kimble. But it wasn't the conqueror who reached out to smooth a spike of the dark hair but rather a strong man who wanted to use his strength to protect and defend what was his. He just hoped Sam would be back to normal this morning. Last night he'd seemed almost - fragile.

Kimble's look of smug contentment changed to consternation as he took in the scrapes, grazes and bruises covering Sam's torso this morning. No prizes for guessing whose fingerprints those were, he thought bleakly. He must have been mad. He should have held back, taken it slower. He hadn't given Sam a whole lot of choice in the matter.

Gerard stirred, opened his eyes and blinked sleepily as he focused on the man sitting opposite him.

Kimble offered a tender smile, anxiously waiting to see which Sam Gerard would greet him this morning.

The dopily sweet smile he received wasn't much help, their months together having taught him that all that signified was that Sam wasn't fully awake yet.

Gerard moved, winced and swore with some feeling.

"Sam?" Kimble was beside him in seconds.

"Jeez, my ass is sore," Gerard growled. There was nothing of the soft-mouthed romantic about him this morning, just stubble, morning breath and a need to pee. Trying to leave the bed, he had a short struggle with the sheet, which had wrapped itself around him; for a while the sheet seemed to be winning. Anyone less like the so-competent deputy marshal would have been hard to find.

"I should check you out," muttered Kimble, smoothing his hand over some angry-looking scrapes along Gerard's side.

"Get real. These are from your damn plaster," Gerard told him as he finally got to his feet. He towered over the man perched on the side of the mattress; six foot one inch of solid muscle. The pat Kimble presumed was intended for the top of his head narrowly missed the corner of his eye before Gerard ambled off to the bathroom.

A rueful smile in place, Kimble watched the power in that easy walk. So much for his vulnerable lover who needed protecting; Sam was built like a boxer.

It belatedly occurred to him that if Sam had submitted to him, it was because he had wanted to. And why not? He'd got off on surrendering control to Sam plenty of times, he'd just never felt comfortable exerting his own strength: not completely. Now he felt free enough to let loose the restraints which usually inhibited him - and he had Sam to thank for that.

The sound of the shower splattering on was followed by muffled singing. Unable to identity the song, Kimble wandered into the bathroom in time to hear Gerard singing, 'Blues came to Texas, lopin' like a mule,' as he soaped his left armpit. The singing stopped as he caught sight of the bruise-bites on his shoulder. Fingering them lightly, Gerard gave a smile of reminiscent pleasure before picking up the lyrics mid-verse.

Slightly reassured, Kimble set down the lid of the toilet bowl and sat on it. "I've not heard that song before."

"Is that a criticism of my singing?" enquired Gerard with suspicion.

"No, I'm resigned to that by now."

Gerard flicked water at him. "It's an old song, from the Twenties."

Having completed his unobtrusive visual check and satisfied himself that Sam was OK, Kimble lost all pretense of medical detachment as he sat admiring Sam's ass, despite the fingertip-sized bruises adorning it. "Robert Johnson?"

"No, a Texan by the name of Blind Lemon Jefferson. You won't have heard me play it because the early recordings don't sound that great - just enough to give you the flavor of what it must have been like to hear him live." Gerard turned under the spray of the water, his soapy hands running down the cleft of his buttocks; he winced slightly as the soap stung. "No," he said firmly when he caught his lover's eye.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Kimble protested virtuously.

"The hell you weren't. This cheap soap smarts. We could head for a town. Stock up on supplies and some clean clothes." Beginning to hum again, Gerard paused to add, "Some say the Blues originated in Texas."

Kimble gave him a fond look. "This is a wild guess but would they be Texan?"

"Damn but you're sharp," Gerard said, all admiration. "Instead of sitting there looking decorative why don't you make me some coffee."

"You think I'm decorative?" Kimble batted his eyelashes but was so enamored of his performance that he failed to pay attention. A soggy towel landed in his lap.

"Occasionally," Gerard allowed.

Kimble looked smug. "When we shop we'd best buy some coffee because the stuff here is instant."

Gerard groaned. "Then pack so we can check out and find a place that serves the real thing."

When Kimble obediently wandered off to do as he had been told, he was humming to himself. Yeah, he had Sam back all right.

 

"So where shall we go?" asked Gerard. Having eaten a hearty breakfast he looked sharp and alarmingly focused as he drank his third cup of coffee. "The entire world stretches out in front of us, ours for the taking."

"Why does food always make you philosophical?" enquired Kimble, just beating his companion to the last piece of toast.

"It's a puzzle. So where do you want to go?"

"I haven't travelled that much outside the States," mused Kimble.

Gerard's expression gave nothing away. "Nor me."

"There's plenty I haven't seen here. We could buy a Rand McNally road atlas and set off round the back roads of America," suggested Kimble.

"We could," agreed Gerard. "You've been humoring me these last few days, now it's my turn. Where do you want to go?"

Looking like he was having teeth pulled, Kimble shrugged and caved-in. "I only want to be with you," he muttered.

"Isn't that a song title?" complained Gerard, screwing up his face. "I'll sit here all day if I have to. Where do you want to go?"

"Home."

Gerard groaned theatrically.

"OK, smartass," said Kimble, very much on his dignity, "where do you want to go?"

"Hey, did I say I didn't want to do that?"

They were still squabbling in a desultory kind of way as they got off the plane at O'Hare, but it was more to stop themselves sounding too smug than from any real conviction.

Some of their poorly disguised satisfaction faded when they arrived home to face the furniture cluttering up the hall, the empty living-room a reminder that it still needed decorating. Given a choice between arranging for the work to be done during the remainder of Gerard's vacation, which would leave them with a house full of strangers who would inhibit their ability to do what they wanted, their choice was a simple one. With a look of decision on his face Gerard picked up one end of the couch nearest to him and gestured for Kimble to take up the other end.

 

Yawning his head off, Kimble sleepily surveyed the living-room, which was once again full of stacks of books. He made a small sound of irritation when he was reminded that he wasn't yet able to scratch his forearm.

"You rubbing my belly doesn't help," he pointed out to Gerard.

"It's not supposed to."

"Then why do it?"

"Hey, this is for my benefit, not yours."

Kimble didn't even waste his breath trying to find a retort.

"It's lucky I never did get around to replacing that rug. The color scheme might not have matched," mused Gerard, oozing smugness.

"Only you could turn nearly six months of procrastination into a virtue. So what about the drapes?"

Gerard slowly, and not too hard, banged his forehead against the wall. "We're talking soft furnishings. I blame it on you," he added moodily.

"No surprise there. One more word out of you and I'll have the walls painted pink. The pinkest pink you've ever seen."

"Pointless threat," said Gerard, who was at his most superior. "We both know it's never going to happen." He paused to give the room a thoughtful look. "Maybe something tasteful in apricot," he mused.

He almost got away with it.

***

 

Slipping his bare feet into a pair of loafers Gerard looked up as Kimble wandered into the bedroom.

"I've been thinking," began the doctor unwisely.

"Excellent. I knew you'd find yourself a hobby eventually."

"A comedian yet. No, about - "

"You need to dress while you talk," interrupted Gerard, not without regret. Richard naked was one of his favorite sights.

"OK," said Kimble equably. "Why?" he thought to add, as he took briefs from the drawer and wandered into the closet for jeans and a pale blue denim shirt.

"Kathy will be here in ten minutes to take us out for a meal."

"She didn't tell me," said Kimble, grimacing as he pulled his jeans up over a carpet burn he had acquired on one knee.

"That's because Kathy knows our two hearts beat as one. You were in the shower," Gerard added prosaically. "Though why you should be so astonished that people want to talk to me."

"Where's Kathy taking us?" asked Kimble as he tucked his shirt into his jeans.

"Wrigley Field," said Gerard, gloom descending because he had managed not to think about the prospect ahead of him.

Kimble's mouth was already twitching. "Didn't you tell her I dragged you there last week?"

"I couldn't," admitted Gerard ruefully. "She was so gleeful at getting ringside seats. Do I mean ringside?" he added with a trace of pathos.

"No. My poor Sam."

"I'll survive," Gerard said, making the best of it.

"Right," scoffed Kimble affectionately. "Last week you fell asleep as - "

Gerard threw a pillow at him.

"I hate a poor loser," said Kimble piously. "I made an appointment to see a therapist next Monday," he added out of the blue. "It makes sense to start while I'm not working."

Gerard nodded and carefully didn't point out that it might take Richard more than a couple of sessions to resolve all the issues he had to deal with.

Kathy Wahlund arrived, providing the perfect distraction for both men.

***

 

After a wonderful day on the lake Gerard and Kimble rounded it off with drinks in the lounge area at the top of the John Hancock Center. Making themselves comfortable in easy chairs, the place full of tourists, they watched the city spread out beneath them. Ribbons of light defined the expressways, office blocks gradually easing into the velvety shadows as whole floors went dark; others continued to blaze, the scene turning into an abstract composed of light haze on light haze.

"I wonder where all those people are going," mused Kimble. "And if they're as happy as we are." He gave the ornate arrangement in his glass a disdainful poke. "Or as happy as we'll be when we get rid of these. Wine?"

"Make mine a Virgin Mary," said Gerard. He had taken one look at his glass and left it on the table; flowers belonged in gardens, not glasses.

Their contentment complete, they sipped their drinks as they idly pointed out landmarks to one another.

"It's dumb," said Kimble eventually, "but sitting here I'm in danger of bursting into song."

"If it starts with 'My kind of town' I'm outta here," said Gerard lazily. "Though it is," he conceded.

"You love this city as much as I do, don't you," recognized Kimble.

"Probably. I just took it for granted until I thought we might have to leave."

"These three weeks we've had together have been the best. Just what we needed." While Kimble wasn't given to Gerard-fizz he was virtually glowing with contentment. "I've never known time to go so fast. You're back at work in two days."

Dark eyebrows rose. "Counting the hours, are you?"

"There was that risk we'd run out of things to say to one another."

"It's been a worry," nodded Gerard. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you when you have your plaster removed on Thursday?" His mouth didn't so much as twitch.

"Don't get cute with me," Kimble advised him. "I'll call you to confirm my hand hasn't dropped off. Better still, I'll take you out to lunch - if you're not working out of town by then."

"It's a date. Here, you best have this." Gerard picked up the large, card-backed envelope he had been carrying since he and Kimble had reunited after going their separate ways for a couple of hours.

It had been tantalizing Kimble to the point where he had been afraid he was going to have to ask what it was. Ripping it open he paused before investigating the contents. "It's not some cheesy card, is it?" he enquired with suspicion.

Gerard gave him a look of pain. "Please."

Drawing out what proved to be a prepared Certificate that was available from stationers, Kimble barely subdued a yell of delight as he read the familiar black-ink scrawl.

'This is to certify that at approximately 00.37 on the 27th August  
Doctor Richard David Kimble did best Big Dog,  
to the immense pleasure of them both.'

The only signature was a picture of some indeterminate creature. Unable to decide what it was supposed to represent, Kimble admitted defeat.

"It's a big dog, of course. A hound dog to be precise," added Gerard with a trace of indignation. He'd wasted four Certificates before producing something that didn't look like a bear.

Kimble continued to look at it, absently fingering the sketch while wearing a fatuous grin. "It's a relief to know you're not good at everything. You haven't signed this," he added critically.

Gerard pointed to the dog.

"I guess it will do," said Kimble in the tones of one doing a great favor. "Was it really 00.37?"

Gerard gave a long-suffering sigh. There were times when Richard was pitifully easy. It was irritating that his better nature usually prevailed on those occasions and he failed to take advantage of the other man.

Kimble continued to finger the black ink. "Am I still grinning like a fool?" he asked a short while later.

"Sure but I got used to that months ago."

Kimble tucked the certificate back in its envelope and left his chair. "Home," he said with decision.

"Where's the rush?" enquired Gerard, but he was already getting to his feet. "Oh god, you're going to try to live up to that damn certificate, aren't you. Just don't forget I have to work in two days time."

"You're fit," said Kimble heartlessly as they waited for the express elevator. "I need to decide where to hang my certificate," he added happily.

Gerard's suggestion was anatomically impossible.

***

 

"I don't know what the etiquette is. Am I allowed to ask if the session went OK?" said Gerard when Kimble finally returned home, two hours past the time he had been expecting him. Richard had been to see his third therapist in as many days.

The grim look he had come home with fading, Kimble rubbed his back against the door jamb. "Apparently it's not unusual to take a while before you find someone you can talk to."

"Ah, that bad," recognized Gerard.

The calm carapace cracked wide open. "He's an asshole, Sam. I didn't want to tell him my name. Hell, I didn't need to. He knew all about me." Looking back up to see Gerard still watching him, Kimble gave a shamefaced shrug. "Maybe I'm exaggerating." Flexing his spine, he wandered across the kitchen and bent to take juice from the refrigerator. "I guess there are other therapists."

"There are pages of them in the phone book. You're not giving up then?"

Obviously tempted, Kimble shook his head. "I'll get the phone book," he said with gloom.

***

 

The pinpricks of discomfort creeping up his chest, Gerard conceded defeat and peered down at himself to see what was causing them. With no great sense of surprise he discovered his torturer was none other than his lover, who was painstakingly taking the base of a separate hair between his forefinger and thumb and pulling on it before moving on to another.

"That hurts," said Gerard mildly.

Kimble looked up. "I know but I need to get my fine finger movements back as quickly as possible. The more exercises do the easier it will get. This is only the first day I've had the plaster off and - "

"I meant it hurts me," said Gerard with patience.

"Not much," dismissed Kimble ruthlessly, just before he inadvertently plucked a hair from between Gerard's nipples. "Oops."

"Move on, Richard. I'd like to keep what little hair I have there."

"OK." Kimble obligingly shifted position.

Within seconds Gerard was aware of a slight smarting sensation at his groin. Already knowing what he would see, he looked down. Sure enough, Richard was now playing with his pubic hair.

"I can't believe this is the kind of exercise your physiotherapist had in mind," he mused.

Kimble grinned. "Not exactly. But picking up dried peas with chopsticks is boring." He blew gently across his lover's penis until it began to twitch with interest.

"You get on with your physio. and let me read my book in peace," Gerard advised him. "Out of curiosity, why aren't you plucking out your own body hair instead of picking on mine?"

Rather than displaying any regret, Kimble's expression was one of pure glee. "It's a tough choice, but you win by a hair's breadth."

Groaning, Gerard yanked one of the pillows he was leaning against from behind him and attempted to stifle his lover.

He forgot to allow for the fact Kimble now had the use of both hands.

***

 

Gerard eyed the stony-faced man who returned from his second session with the therapist who Kimble had grudgingly allowed 'seemed OK'.

"Phone book," demanded Kimble. Ignoring the juice, he took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, knocked off the top and drank deeply.

"I made a few calls today, asked for recommendations from everyone I could think of and listed the names which were repeated." Gerard gestured to a piece of paper on the kitchen table.

"It's as good a starting place as any," conceded Kimble, relaxing now he was home. "I'm not giving up on this, Sam. About the only thing I've learnt so far is that I could use some help. I'm not going to turn on you again."

Gerard grimaced. "Richard - "

"Of course I'm gonna bitch like crazy."

"That'll be novel," murmured Gerard.

Kimble gave him the finger, and a lop-sided grin.

***

 

Kimble arrived home with several sacks of groceries after his third session with the male therapist he had dismissed as wet behind the ears.

"Don't ask," he warned.

"He hardly said a word the entire session," he added a few moments later.

Gerard paused in unpacking one of the sacks. "I thought you were the one who was supposed to talk."

"I'll do what I damn well please," snapped Kimble. "Therapist! It feels more like - I hate this, Sam. Hate it." He stalked out into the yard.

Unpacking the shopping, Gerard grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and wandered off to find his lover, discovering that Richard had gone no farther than the porch-swing. As he sat down beside him Kimble started talking as if there had been no hiatus.

"This presumption that you can just walk into some stranger's office and start talking about intensely personal issues really pisses me off. I don't know why I'm being so defensive," he muttered, quietening. "It's not as if it'll be over in a couple of weeks, or even months. It can take years."

He sounded so disgusted that Gerard had to subdue a smile. It wasn't funny, it really wasn't. But Richard sounded so outraged at the idea of not being able to control the situation. There again, if you'd had control of your life ripped from you the way Richard had, maybe you were entitled to make an issue out of keeping control of all aspects of your life. He was that way inclined himself. In fact it surprised him that he and Richard hadn't clashed egos more often. Or maybe not. He hated fighting with Richard. He surfaced from his abstraction to find the other man watching him with a trace of anxiety.

"I'll try not to give up on this, Sam, I promise," Kimble said, resolve stamped on his face.

That kick-started Gerard into speech. "Hey, forget that. This isn't about me or my needs but what's best for you."

"I know," acknowledged Kimble with gloom. "I think that's why I get so mad."

Gerard's eyebrows drew together. "I don't follow."

"The suspicion that I might really need this. It's weird talking to a guy only three years qualified."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, but it can't be much more. He's only a kid."

Gerard didn't say a word.

"OK, OK," sighed Kimble. "I'm going down to the gym to knock the crap out of the punch bag," he added with dignity. "At least that doesn't give me smart looks."

***

 

Having been home only ten minutes himself, Gerard was sitting at the kitchen table, catching up on the morning mail. He could hear Richard humming as he let himself in and called out to advertize his whereabouts. Richard boogied into the kitchen, still singing and came over to give him a lingering kiss and a pinch to his nipple.

"You're looking chipper for a guy who's just returned from a session with his therapist," remarked Gerard, trying not to squirm.

"That's because today I enjoyed it."

Gerard's eyes narrowed. "You didn't punch him out?"

"Sa-am. As if," said Kimble, all piety.

"You must be suffering from short-term memory loss if you can't remember how mad you were when you got back Wednesday evening."

"I've mellowed. Bill had this idea. Because I'm 'so resistant' to opening up, he suggested I talk about something that makes me happy. So I spent fifty minutes telling him all about you."

"Yeah?" Studied nonchalance failed to mask the wariness behind it.

Kimble covered the hand resting on the table. "Hey, it's all right. I just told him what you do for a living and it kind of snowballed. I guess I had more to say on the subject than I thought. I'm so damn proud of you. But you don't have to worry. I would never tell him any of the personal stuff between us. Never."

Gerard's head swung around. "Why not? You talk about anything and everything you want. No withholding. You do what you need to do, clear?"

Caught in that laser-like intensity, Kimble's smile was tender. "Bill asked me how you felt about my having therapy and maybe discussing you and our relationship. I told him that's what you would say - and that you'd mean it. Trust me on this, Sam. You aren't my problem. But you might be a way for me to get round this resistence to talking about stuff I - "

"Kept locked away deep inside for all those years," completed Gerard. Raising their linked hands to his mouth, he nipped the tip of Kimble's index finger. "You're in danger of sounding like you know what you're talking about. Give a guy a few sessions and suddenly he's an expert."

"No, you just give a guy Sam Gerard as his lover," Kimble corrected him, before he took pity on his self-conscious companion. "Tell me we can eat in the next five minutes. Eulogizing about you has given me an appetite."

"I could tell you that, but I'd be lying. The reason there's no food in the house is because you were the guy who promised to buy groceries."

"Shi-it," groaned Kimble in an unconscious imitation of his lover. "I clean forgot. I'll be glad when I get back to surgery, all this paperwork is rotting my brain." Hooking the telephone to him, his fingers hovered over the speed-dial. "What nationality take out?"

Unable to decide, they opted for two orders which they would mix and match.

"Thirty minutes wait from one, forty-five from the other," grumbled Kimble. His expression brightened as he slipped his hand between the buttons he had been opening on Gerard's shirt.

After months of assiduous work on Kimble's part Gerard's nipples sprang to attention every time Kimble's hand was in their vicinity. Tonight was no exception. His head bending, Kimble rubbed his nose in the small patch of dark hair growing high on Gerard's chest.

"I guess I'll just have to make do with you until the food arrives," he mumbled, his teeth grazing a hard-nubbed nipple.

 

Wearing hastily pulled-on clothing and expressions of dopey satisfaction, they ate their take out at the kitchen table, which was awash with cartons. Gerard gestured expansively with the chopsticks while he told his companion about his day.

"Earth to Richard. Am I boring you?" he enquired.

"Now he asks me." Kimble leant over to lick a grain of rice from the corner of Gerard's mouth. "I was just looking at your mouth and - Though that will probably have to wait till tomorrow night," he added realistically.

"Damn right," said Gerard. "Boy, I've eaten too much."

Kimble peered down to where the usually flat stomach had a distinct curve and gave it a fond pat. "After a large meal that's about as close as you get to a belly. How did your new deputy make out?"

"With Luis or working for me?" enquired Gerard.

"Ah."

"Oh yeah. I foresee a number of interesting talks about appropriate behaviour in the workplace. She's blonde, she's stacked and she moves like - how does Jack Lemmon put it? - ' jello on springs'."

Kimble gave a knowing grin. "Give you a hard-on, did she, Sam?"

He gave a resigned nod but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. "I've partnered her with Poole. That should calm her sexual charisma some. That and more appropriate clothing. She's bright and ambitious but it's gonna take a while to knock this one into shape."

"I wouldn't have the patience," mused Kimble.

"Oh, not the way you would with that guy Hebron?"

"Levi? He might be an arrogant son-of-a-bitch but he's already a damn fine surgeon and the patients trust him. It's only the surgical team who suffer from his personality defects." Kimble gave a weighty sigh. "It wasn't until recently that it occurred to me he might be over-compensating because he's got a problem about something. Turns out I've been intimidating the hell out of him. Can you imagine?"

The years of needing to maintain a blank expression at work stood Gerard in good stead. "It's a stretch," he said, all solemnity.

Kimble gave him a look of suspicion but had the sense not to press the point. "Indirectly it's because of Levi that I've finally come round to the idea of doing something with Helen's money rather than pretending it doesn't exist."

Gerard nodded encouragingly, waiting with the patience he could display at the most unexpected times.

"I've never regarded the money as mine. It feels like blood money and I want no part of it. But that's dumb. I know that. The best solution I've come up with is to set up a Foundation in Helen's name. I thought I'd split it in two, half to support poor families with terminally ill kids, the other to help young doctors. Levi's buried in debt, his wife was made redundant two months ago and they have two young kids under three with another on the way. He was going to quit and go work in his uncle's business where he'd make a decent living straight away. Luckily I checked around, found that the research work he's been helping me with entitles him to a grant which will keep him going until his wife finds work again."

"That is lucky," agreed Gerard, swallowing this amazing coincidence without blinking.

"So what do you think about the Foundation?"

"I think it's a terrific idea. I'll do all I can to help out."

"I knew you'd say that," said Kimble gruffly.

"Is this a subtle way of telling me I'm predictable?" enquired Gerard.

Kimble's mood visibly lightened. "Face it, Sam. In all the things that matter you are. And to be able to trust someone that much is awesome."

Much to Gerard's relief he was called out before Richard could embarrass him any more that evening.

***

 

It was three days before Kimble saw his lover again. Never sleeping as well when Sam was away as when he was in bed beside him - or at least around some place - he had got up before dawn. The sound of Gerard sshing someone as he came in made him call out that he was awake. Instantly the house was full of vitality as Gerard and Renfro breezed into the room.

"Oh god," groaned Kimble, feeling old and tired. "It's Batman and Robin."

Renfro gave a pleased grin. "Yeah? Cool. What do you think, Sammy?"

"I'm wondering how long Richard's been harboring the secret longing to see you in panty hose."

Renfro shook his head. "Never gonna happen. It really digs into - " He stopped with an abrupt display of self-consciousness before making a characteristically fast recovery. "So when are you going to feed me, Sam?"

"Now, Boy Wonder. Provided you make those eggs of yours."

Bright-eyed and almost as energetic as Gerard, Renfro was busy raiding the refrigerator. "Sure. I've just thought. If you're Batman and I'm Robin, who's Richard?"

"Alfred," said Gerard promptly. "He attends to my every need."

"That's right," nodded Kimble. "I get to polish the Bat-pole."

Caught mid-swallow, Gerard sprayed orange juice across the kitchen.

"And clean up after him," added Kimble happily.

"Hey, will you two save the comedy routine until I've eaten," complained Renfro. "Richard, chop these. Sam, toast that. I'm hungry."

"Me, too," said Kimble.

Renfro pretended not to hear him but his smile was indulgent.

***

 

Despite a morning spent lecturing, two hours of paperwork and a session with his therapist, Kimble was whistling under his breath as he entered the lobby of the Federal building which housed the deputy marshals' office. He was heading for reception when he was hailed by Ritchie. It was impossible not to return his smile, the other man still on Cloud Nine seven weeks after the birth of his daughter.

"Hey, Richard. It's great to see you. If you're hoping to catch Sam he's at a meeting. He'll be a while yet."

"That's OK. It's Noah I've come to collect. We're going to have that chess marathon we've been promising ourselves," Kimble said happily.

"Yeah, that's right. Alison's out of town until Tuesday," said Biggs, straight-faced, as he appeared at Kimble's shoulder.

"People have been known to enjoy my company," protested Kimble with a grin.

"If you say so, Richard."

"Robert, let the man be. Instead of waiting down here, come up with us," urged Ritchie. "Robert will make you coffee while you take a look at my new photos." He was fumbling for his wallet as he steered Kimble to the elevator.

Closing the doors for them Biggs gave his companion a look of exasperated affection but he made none of the obvious comments. After what Henry and Vonetta had been through to get little Clancy they were entitled to revel in her. Anyway, while he and Wesley had no desire for kids, they enjoyed other people's - in moderation, and always excepting his brat of a nephew.

Kimble was still looking at baby pictures forty minutes later, wearing the faintly hunted look of a man who knew there was no escape.

Returning from court, Poole took in the situation in one encompassing glance. "Richard!" Rescued in seconds, Kimble made no resistance as he was drawn out of earshot. Hidden from Ritchie by a wood-look bookcase, he kissed Poole soundly.

"Mmn, you smell wonderful," he noted.

"Roger approves," she said with composure, having returned his hug with interest. "We haven't seen you in an age. It must be almost three months."

"It's been a while," he conceded, unperturbed by her all-encompassing survey.

"For a while there we thought maybe you didn't want to be seen with us," she added lightly.

Understanding perfectly what lay behind that comment, Kimble gave her a bland smile and refused to be drawn. What had occurred between Sam and himself was private.

Lenny Gold bumbled into the area, perspiration glowing on his upper lip, his expression harried. "Hi, Richard. If you've got a moment I was wondering if I could discuss - That is if you would - "

Resigned to his fate, Kimble found himself in the men's room, listening to Lenny's whispered confidences when the door burst open to reveal a breathless Biggs, his rumpled hair sticking up on end.

"Thank god you're still here," he gasped. "Come quick."

Running after him, Kimble paused in the open-plan office. "Who's sick?" he asked crisply. His eyes scanning the department, he was looking for anyone bleeding profusely or turning purple.

"Here," called Luis, looking both sheepish and pale. "I was just - "

" - he was playing on his chair when the leg broke and he fell back. He's hurt his thumb," reported Jenna. There was a trace of worry behind her impatient tone.

In the next hour Kimble dealt with a dislocated thumb, gave advice on lower back pain to four deputies and reassured two worried men about a more personal problem. It served him right for believing Noah when he said he would be taking the afternoon off work. This was pretty much what he had come to expect if he made the mistake of coming up to the office. When taking on Sam he had unknowingly taken on a number of new patients. Cosmo had called him out for each one of his kids. So far they'd had three false alarms, a grazed forehead, lost a front tooth and had measles. He was acquiring a small library on paediatric medicine.

Biggs, who had been caught up with some calls, wandered over to check if Kimble wanted anything just as Jenna gave the doctor a warm smile of approval and yet another cup of coffee.

Newman bounced in ten minutes later, beaming hugely when he saw Kimble. "Hi, Richard. That ear stud looks cool. Glad you took my advice and went for a decent sized diamond. What are you doing here?

"Oh jeez, I meant to call you and cancel," he added guiltily as the realization hit.

"Let me guess. Alison's home," said Kimble dryly.

"Well, uh, yes. And I promised to take her and the boys to that new theme restaurant that's opened."

Remembering the sleepy-eyed man who had happily run a string of concurrent girlfriends, Kimble managed not to smile as Newman fished out snapshots, his pride in his new family shining from him. He had matured in these last few months.

"Surgery not paying so well?" Newman enquired out of the blue.

Kimble looked at a loss.

"Slowing down, Richard. Eminent surgeons aren't supposed to wear jeans that old with a baseball cap that looks like it's been chewed by some mutt."

"Funny you should say that."

"You mean Sam - ?"

"Give me a break. No, that damn dog Cosmo owns."

Newman's grin spread. "That was too easy. I know Cosmo has called you out a few times. And Henry. I was wondering. I mean the doctor Alison uses is OK but I want the best for the boys and I thought if we ever needed - Would it be all right to call you?"

Kimble gave a resigned nod; he'd given up reminding Sam's kids he was a cardio-vascular surgeon months ago. "Why not? Only tell them not to get sick in the middle of the night."

"It's a deal."

"And on condition that I'm free to talk to Sam about whatever might be wrong. Otherwise between medical confidentiality and Sam - "

"Rock and a hard place," nodded Newman. "I'd take that for granted. Thanks, Richard. I appreciate it." Glancing at his wristwatch, he grimaced. "I must go."

"Have a great time."

"Not a problem," Newman assured him then grabbed his jacket and loped toward the elevator.

It was five thirty and deputies were winding down for the day, a few, like Newman, even leaving on time. Renfro arrived against the tide, talking worriedly to an agent Kimble didn't know. His face lit up when he saw Kimble.

"Richard, you life-saver. Let me get you a cup of coffee."

"What do you want, Cosmo?" he asked immediately, having drunk so much caffeine he was liable to be spending most of the evening in the john.

"You might give me some credit here. As it happens I could use some help. I'm in deep shit. Bruce needs a skeleton for school tomorrow morning and I promised Caroline I'd help out with this project. Only I forgot and Bruce is worrying and Caroline's mad at me and - "

Kimble held up his hands in surrender. "I'll do it."

"You're a prince. Only do you know about skeletons? The best I can manage is 'the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone' and - "

"How do you think you get to be a doctor without knowing about how the human body is constructed?"

"You could have forgotten the basic stuff," Cosmo defended himself.

Meeting Biggs' amused gaze Kimble abandoned the struggle. "Luckily I have a good memory. I'll need a black felt tipped pen, scissors, a lot of white card and plenty of those brass-looking paper fasteners you can fold back. Yeah, that's the kind," he approved as Renfro produced some from his top drawer with a hopeful air. "And floor space."

"You've got it," said Cosmo, busily organising deputies to get what Kimble needed.

It was a mark of the affection in which Renfro was held that people helped out without complaining too much.

His thumb neatly taped, Luis crouched down beside Kimble, who was kneeling on the floor. "What's up, doc? Sorry," he added when he received a glare. "I've always wanted to say that."

"Hold this," commanded Kimble, busy doing calculations to ensure that everything remained in proportion.

 

Eventually free of the meeting which had taken all day to achieve nothing, Gerard was in a cranky mood as he returned to the office to drop off the papers. Emerging from the elevator he paused when he saw the sizeable gathering of deputies clustered around the area close to his desk, their attention on the floor. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but they were obviously enjoying themselves.  
His eyebrows drew together. If Robert and Noah were holding cockroach races again he'd hang them out to dry. Not least because he hated the little suckers, although he hoped he hadn't made that apparent. Besides, his choice had veered off the makeshift track and been trodden on. Peering over Poole's shoulder, Gerard's expression lightened when a familiar denim-clad ass met his gaze. It was by no means the first time he had seen Richard in that position but he hadn't expected to see him on his knees on the floor of his office. His day improving by the second, Gerard was content to remain on the fringes of the group while he worked out what Richard was doing.

Mildly intrigued why his lover should be constructing a skeleton and entertaining his deputies at the same time, Gerard gave up worrying and just enjoyed the show. Drawn in by the slow deliberation of that so deep voice, it was some comfort to see some of his sharpest people being seduced by the Kimble charm. Easing through the press of bodies, who gave way when they saw who it was, Gerard made no attempt to announce his presence to the man presenting such a tempting target.

 

Busy printing out the names of the major bones, Kimble paused when a black boot and dark blue denim covered leg appeared in his line of vision.

"Hi, Sam. I'll be done in a couple of minutes," he promised, reaching behind him to give a bony calf an absent pat just before he shot forward to prevent Marie Boulet from pinning two tibias together.

 

Enjoying the show, the unthinking intimacy with which Richard had identified Sam from so few clues made Renfro beam. Even if Caroline hadn't been the most beautiful woman in the world he would know her feet anywhere, especially when she wore those crimson shoes with the four inch -

Reminding himself that there was a time and place for everything, Renfro turned his attention back to Kimble, eyeing the other man with an approval which had nothing to do with the skeleton the doctor was making. He had hoped Sam and Richard had something approaching the depth of intimacy he enjoyed with Caroline, but stuff like that was private. Outsiders never knew exactly what went on in a relationship. With that spontaneous gesture Richard had just given him a big clue about the kind of relationship he and Sam shared.

He glanced up in time to see a misty-eyed Poole smiling in the direction of the two men. Edging over to where she stood, Renfro bent to whisper "Wuss" in her ear.

Her look of ferocity losing credibility when combined with the small but distinct sniff she gave, Poole ended up nodding. "I like to see the people I love happy," she remarked quietly, seemingly unaware of the staggering admission she had made.

Not that it was news, Renfro thought to himself, but it was kind of nice that Poole felt comfortable enough with him to admit it. He gave her the briefest of one-armed hugs. "Me, too," he conceded. It wasn't that Sam's face betrayed anything more than amusement, just that beneath the undiminished vitality was a contented man, and the cause of that happiness was kneeling at his feet.

Before he could follow that train of thought to its natural conclusion Renfro was distracted when Kimble got to his feet and slowly held up what proved to be a six foot model of a skeleton, complete with moveable parts.

"There you are, Cosmo. One skeleton, male should anyone ask. Narrow pelvis, long leg bones."

Renfro nodded. "That's terrific, Richard. A real work of art. Only - "

A concerted groan went up from those listening. Kimble held up his hand.

"No, let the man speak. I've only knelt at his feet working on this. He doesn't need to feel guilty."

"Good," said Renfro happily. "And I'm grateful. But the skeleton I need has to fit in the bag Brucie takes to school. About this big."

The group of deputies had begun to disperse, leaving a trail of good-natured insults behind them.

"Hey, I don't mind," said Kimble with truth. "It was fun. You can downsize from this one."

"But I can't draw," complained Renfro, looking like a harried gopher.

"Learn," suggested Gerard. "Adios, bambini. I declare this floorshow over."

Renfro gave Kimble a look of appeal.

"My master's voice," said Kimble, now that the three of them were alone. "I dare not disobey."

"I wish," murmured Gerard, glancing up from where he was sorting through messages to spare Kimble the smallest of smiles.

Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Renfro looked away. "Thanks for the work you put in, Richard. I meant to say earlier, if you guys don't have anything better to do, we're having a barbecue Saturday. Starting at midday, going on till after midnight. Turn up when you like. Though if you'd rather avoid the kids make it around eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock it is," confirmed Kimble, after receiving a nod from Gerard.

"I thought you liked my kids," grinned Renfro.

"I adore them, particularly at three in the morning. If you don't go soon you'll need to wake Bruce up for this father/son bonding thing."

"Shit, yeah. Night, Sam."

Waving an absent hand in Renfro's general direction, Gerard was finishing up his phonecall. "Well hello, Richard. Nice to see you. Are we doing something special this evening?"

"How soon he forgets," mourned Kimble.

"We're not," translated Gerard. "Then what is it, you couldn't keep away from me?"

"That, too."

"Tell me the worst," Gerard invited.

"I came to collect Noah for a chess marathon but he dumped me in favor of Alison."

"I play chess," Gerard reminded him as he gestured to the elevator.

Kimble snorted.

"And what's wrong with my game?"

"Where to start," mused Kimble, ducking into the elevator to escape retribution.

***

 

Having been simmering with anticipation throughout an appallingly dull seminar which had wasted the entire day, Kimble arrived home with a head full of plans and a dick that had been twitching for the last hour of what had been a lengthy drive. His erection grumpily subsided and his brain began to sulk when he saw the amount of paperwork Gerard was pouring over.

"No need to ask what you'll be doing this evening," he said dismally.

"I can move back into the office if I'm in the way," Gerard offered, misinterpreting his lover's expression. "It's just that I ran out of floor space in there. "

"Stay where you are. I'd rather have you underfoot than out of sight," said Kimble.

"Well if you change your mind, say so." Gerard continued to spread papers out on the floor in a pattern which obviously held some significance for him.

Kimble's gaze drifted down the muscular curve of spine, buttock and thigh, which were all wonderfully delineated by soft, worn cotton that was clinging to the other man approximately as close as he had planned to. "Have you eaten?" he asked, his mouth watering at the thought of what he could be sucking.

"No. You go ahead. I'll grab something later," replied Gerard absently as he sat on the asset which had been much on his lover's mind.

His plans for the evening in ruins, Kimble trailed off to change into a sleeveless, scoop-neck tee shirt of faded blue and a pair of threadbare denim cut-offs which had sent Sam cross-eyed with lust the last time he had worn them.

Returning to the living-room, pinning his faith on the shorts, Kimble negligently propped a shoulder against the door jamb. His thumbs hooked in the tops of the pockets, bare legs crossed at the ankles, he stood watching Gerard for some time but the other man failed to register his presence. He couldn't understand why he felt so at a loss. He was often operating or at meetings and he had got used to Sam being away for days on end. He didn't like it, but he was used to it. So what made tonight different? Running a hand back over his hair, he admitted that the reason he was feeling so left out was the fact he was used to having Sam's full attention whenever he wanted it.

It was humiliating to come a poor second to paperwork.

That all the spur he required, Kimble pushed himself to his feet and sauntered into the room, giving it all he'd got.

Gerard didn't even register his presence.

Stepping through the various files and piles of papers, Kimble strolled closer. And closer. Eventually he was so close that he was standing directly in front of Gerard.

Without looking up Gerard made a shooing gesture. "You mind, only you're in my light," he said absently.

Kimble debated walking across the papers, recognized that would be childish and told himself he was capable of a more mature response. He was whistling as he flicked on the CD player. Music blared out, making Gerard flinch but within seconds it was obvious he had successfully blocked out the distraction. Kimble had always known Sam had formidable powers of concentration but this demonstration wasn't nearly as satisfying as some he had made. Scowling, he flicked off the player, slumped onto an easy chair and studied Gerard's absorbed profile with the concentration of an alcoholic looking at a bottle of scotch.

No one should have eyelashes that long, he thought moodily, deciding he would go into his office and catch up on his e-mail. Gerard chose that moment to rise to his hands and knees to reach a file, remaining in that position as he flicked through it. Kimble had to swallow hard, admitting what - who - he would rather be getting on top of. He left the room without a backward glance.

Half an hour of solitude was all he could take. Lifting two apples from the bowl in the kitchen, Kimble went back into the living-room. From the absent look Gerard spared him it was obvious Sam hadn't realized he had ever left.

Distinctly irritated by this time, Kimble toyed - briefly - with the idea of kicking him. He might have done but for the fact it would risk bruising one of Gerard's best assets.

"I thought I'd read," Kimble said loudly, holding up his alibi when Gerard gave him a vacant look.

"Good idea." Shuffling the papers closest to him, Gerard began to frown. A short time later his lips moved in some silent dialogue and he began to scribble notes on the pad in front of him.

Kimble debated pitching one of the apples at Gerard's head, but instead gently set it down by Sam's hand, where he would be sure to see it. It wasn't Sam's fault he was busy; though no one asked him to do the work of two, Kimble reminded himself, casting a brooding glance at his lover's profile. It would have been nice if Sam had showed some faint sign of regret.

Or noticed he was alive.

Sighing with the heaviness of a man bearing the cares of the world on his shoulders, Kimble spread himself along the couch behind where Gerard sat cross-legged on the floor. Despite his best intentions, Kimble fidgeted. The only thing he wanted to play with sat engrossed in a mess of paperwork, oblivious of him.

"How's it going?" Kimble asked, what seemed like forever later.

Gerard spared him an impatient glance. "Did you want me?"

Sighing, Kimble shook his head and went to the kitchen to make them both some coffee. Realizing he could abandon hope of Sam taking a meal-break, he heated up a pizza while he was out there.

Chewing avidly while he continued to work, Gerard's tongue flicked out to capture strands of cheese in a manner Kimble found highly distracting. He gave the softest of groans.

"Here, I saved you the last piece." Gerard passed the plate behind him and was back at work before Kimble could explain the nature of his desire. He took a morose bite of rubbery pizza while he indulged himself in watching Gerard.

The rich, dull crimson of the v-necked tee shirt Gerard wore deepened the tan he acquired so effortlessly and clung lovingly to the muscles of his back. His hair was tufting at the nape of his neck and curling thickly behind his ears. Stubble darkened his upper lip and jaw and Kimble had to resist the temptation to run the pad of his thumb across the press of bone, or to investigate the just-parted lips as Gerard continued to mutter silently to himself. The urge to kiss the back of Sam's neck was acute.

Kimble grabbed his book just before it slid out of his hand and tried to settle down to reading. The novel never stood a chance against the possibility that Gerard would lean up enough to grant a view of his gorgeous ass; to Kimble's disappointment, Sam continued to sit on it.

Without being conscious of what he was doing, Kimble slid down on the cushions so he could nudge the hollow of his lover's spine with his bare toes. To his regret there was no gap between jeans and tee shirt; there wasn't so much as an inch of skin on display.

"What now?" asked Gerard with resignation as he swivelled around to face the man seemingly set on driving him crazy. Experience was teaching him that a bored Richard was far more trouble than a horny Richard.

"Do I detect a lack of enthusiasm here?"

"No question about it," replied Gerard, but by this time he wore a faint, affectionate smile. It was always a comfort when the saintly Doctor Kimble behaved like a spoilt dickhead - a reminder that it was possible to live up to him.

And a joy to live with him.

The thought came from nowhere but the fact wasn't one Gerard took for granted. "Boring day?" he asked innocently.

"Certainly not," said Kimble, very much on his dignity.

"That's good." Amusement sparkled in Gerard's eyes.

"You?" pursued Kimble, because even this conversation was better than none.

"Pretty good." Gerard turned back to the papers fanned out around him.

"Wonderful."

Kimble stared at the back of the other man's head, as if trying to see into the mind it housed. About to speak, it occurred to him that he had left it too late; Gerard was engrossed in his files again. Even when fully focused on work Sam was never completely still, although tonight there was a strong sense of energy being reined in. Kimble had cause to know how erotic it was when all that formidable life-force was poured over and around and through him.

His balls aching, he conceded defeat. Tossing the book he still held to the other end of the couch, he indulged in some undisguised Sam-watching. His reward came when, after stiffly flexing his back, Gerard resettled himself along the carpet on his stomach. Kimble dreamily sat enjoying the flex and contraction of the muscled flesh that was so beautifully defined by the soft denim caught in the cleft of Gerard's ass. He was obviously naked under his jeans; there was the tiniest of tears at the undercheek of his left buttock. Reaching out to retrieve a file which had slipped just out of reach, Gerard's bare toes curved for purchase on the carpet, his ass rounding out when he relaxed.

A soft moan escaped Kimble.

Gerard turned at that. "You OK?" He was obviously expecting an affirmative.

Glassy-eyed with lust, Kimble cleared his throat. "What?" he croaked, pulling at the tie he had removed some hours ago.

That gesture, together with the erection tenting Richard's shorts, concentrated Gerard's thoughts wonderfully. "I haven't got time," he said, cutting to the chase.

"I know that." Kimble's heavy-lidded gaze was on that beautiful mouth.

"I really don't have time," Gerard added, getting to his knees.

Kimble parted his hands in a gesture of understanding.

"Twenty minutes," growled Gerard in a goaded tone.

"In your dreams," scoffed Kimble, wearing the untrustworthy look which usually meant they both fell into an exhausted sleep an untold time later. It was also an unmistakable challenge.

"I don't have the time," repeated Gerard virtuously. Repeating the nine times table in his head in a pathetic attempt to defeat the ache in his balls, he turned back to his papers.

"No?" Vaulting over the back of the couch, Kimble swopped the CD in the player and hit the 'play' button. 'Bad to the Bone' thundered into the room, the first guitar riff shooting straight to the groin.

Having been trying to pretend he was working, Gerard's head shot up, his eyes narrowing when he recognized his lover's expectant expression; Richard never could resist seeing how much he could get away with.

"Nice try but no cigar." While he gave the impression of a man who had returned to work, despite himself he was caught up in the grinding, inexorable beat. Seemingly blessed with an independent existence, his dick responded to the bass line. Gerard's lips moved and he casually changed his grip on the report he was holding so that it shielded his groin from view.

It seemed very quiet when the song finally came to an end. Quiet enough for Gerard to hear a whisper of sound which made his dick - and the hairs on the backs of his arms - lift.

Kimble unzipped his fly.

Gerard concentrated on controlling his breathing. He didn't know what the hell Richard was doing but he was willing to swear he could smell him, his skin awaiting the touch which never came. Conceding defeat, he swivelled around. His breath audibly caught in his throat.

Kimble was sitting back on his haunches, his shorts unfastened and pulled open to frame his beautiful dick, which moved with each inhalation he made. His gaze locked to Gerard's, Kimble's hand slid down and idly began to massage his balls; his eyes slitting, one hand curved around his dick and lazily began to pull on it. He gave Gerard a wickedly knowing smile.

"Hey, don't let me interrupt your work," he murmured, "I'll be just fine."

The low purr in the seductive voice seemed to vibrate through Gerard but his job had taught him to mask his emotions. Tilting his head in acknowledgement, he nodded, then waited; the challenge was obvious. 'Impress me' said his skeptical expression.

Never one to resist a challenge, least of all from Gerard, Kimble set out to do just that.

Slowly drawing his teeshirt over his head, he wiped it over his face, as if inhaling his own scent. Tossing away the soft cotton, he casually rubbed his nipples, then began to pinch first the left, then the right until his mouth parted on a soft, pleasured gasp. He watched with satisfaction as a jolt of reaction went through Gerard, as if it had been his body the sensations were shooting through. But within a short space of time Kimble was lost to the sensations he had created.

Both hands on himself by this time, thumbing away the clear fluid from the eye of his cock, Kimble managed to keep it slow at first but beat by beat the rhythm intensified. His mouth parting, he licked his lower lip. His head went back, exposing the long beautiful line of his throat as, his hips pumping, he came with a low cry, unaware that he had splattered semen over the edge of Gerard's notepad.

The report Gerard was holding fluttered; his grasp on it tightened, crumpling the edge before he made a conscious effort to relax his grip. Apart from his deepened breathing rate there was little indication that Kimble's display had affected him. Collecting up the semen from the notepad with the side of his finger, he licked it clean with a voluptuous pleasure which was quite unconscious. Unsmiling, his gaze was fixed on his lover's flushed face.

"Well, at least you were quick," he said.

Fully focused by this time, Kimble was reminded of why it was never wise to bait the tiger, even though it was sometimes irresistible. The sweat gleaming high on Gerard's temples and the report casually covering his groin told him all he needed to know. Fastening his pants, he got to his feet, willing his legs not to shake, and strolled out of the room. He had just reached the doorway when he heard the purr of a zip being unfastened. His head lifting, a crooked smile of reluctant admiration crossed his face; he should have known Sam would do his damnedest to beat him at his own game. And the bastard had. He could no more walk out of this room than he could fly.

Turning, he gave an audible swallow at the picture the other man made. Gerard had already yanked down his jeans. Straight-backed, he was sitting on his heels, bare except for the crimson tee shirt, which made the skin of his naked butt look creamier than ever against his deeply tanned thighs. The flexing muscles of his upper arms made it obvious what he was doing.

"Oh jeez," groaned Kimble. "OK, you win."

Crossing the room in a few strides, he sank onto the carpet behind Gerard. Tucking himself as close as was possible, he curved himself around the other man's back, his outstretched legs sliding alongside Gerard's, his arms tucked under the other man's, hands unerringly finding their target. He propped his chin on Gerard's shoulder so he could see exactly what he was doing.

"Let me do this for you. It's too lonely by yourself," he coaxed, licking the lobe of Gerard's ear.

The soft hair of Kimble's chest prickling his back, Gerard's head turned. "Yeah," he agreed, "it would be. Though I'm damned if I understand why you'd imagine I wouldn't want you." He rubbed his cheek against Kimble's. "As for me winning, you left me with a hard-on that didn't know when to quit, so I guess it's a draw."

"Whatever," murmured Kimble, nuzzling the side of the other man's jaw as his beautiful hands worked his lover's dick. And all the time he murmured erotic encouragement into Gerard's ear, feeling him throb and grow in response to the appreciation being lavished on him.

Gerard went with the takeover. Palms flat on his bare thighs, he remained passive, sinking under his lover's will. He came with a choked sound, slumping completely against the support being offered to him as Richard kissed his neck, cheek and jaw, murmuring a rumbling mixture of love words and obscenities as one arm banded his belly, the other hand continuing to caress his softening dick.

 

Turning over, Kimble woke fully when he realized that the bed was empty and it was three a.m. He waited for long enough to satisfy himself that Sam wasn't in the bathroom before he got up to investigate, tracking the other man to the living-room. Dressed in the clothes he had been wearing earlier, with the addition of a sweatshirt, Gerard was back at his paperwork, a crumpled carton of low-fat milk at his side.

"How long have you been working?" Kimble asked quietly, loving the other man so much it was an ache.

"I came down when you fell asleep," Gerard admitted with a wry grimace. His eyes were bloodshot, fatigue blurring his features.

"I didn't mean to - Well, yeah, of course I did," Kimble admitted, looking troubled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't realize the paperwork was this urgent. You should have kicked me out, Sam."

Gerard gave him an affectionate grin. "I would have done if I'd had any strength of will. Hey, it's no big deal. Go back to bed. I'll be up when I'm through down here."

"And how long's that going to be?"

"A while yet," Gerard conceded.

"You can't work all night," Kimble protested.

"I've done it before. Anyway, I'll be finished in an hour or so. I was about due for a break when you seduced me," Gerard added provocatively.

"Seduced?" Kimble snorted. "Uh uh. Face facts, Sam. You're easy."

"There is that," he conceded.

"Though it has to be said that you didn't have to come up to bed with me."

Gerard looked resigned. "I know it. The problem is, I like you falling asleep while I'm holding you." He made the confession in the tone of one admitting to some hideous aberration.

"Yeah?"

Kimble's lack of amazement made Gerard appreciate he might not be hiding certain things quite as well as he had supposed. He gave his lover a look of suspicion which Kimble met with a bland smile.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Knowing Richard was prepared to do anything from sending faxes to making coffee, Gerard gave him a slow, warm smile. "Not until I can give you my undivided attention. Go to bed. I love you too, all right?" When it occurred to him that Kimble hadn't actually made a declaration, his glare dared him to comment on his lapse into sentiment.

The warning had its usual effect on his lover.

Crossing the room, Kimble gave Gerard a quick kiss on the top of his head and a far longer one-armed hug. "Wuss," he said affectionately, patting Gerard's chest before he released him.

Making himself comfortable on the couch, he punched up a couple of cushions. "Well, get on with your work," he said, when Gerard continued to stare at him. "In case you hadn't realized, I kind of like to go to sleep holding you. And this way I know you won't work all night."

"That's very sneaky," said Gerard after a moment.

Kimble gave him the slowest of smiles. "And your point is?" he said blandly.

Muttering under his breath, Gerard got back to work, his energy levels visibly increased.


	8. PUBLIC RELATIONS

"I'm not doing this." Gerard's tone brooked no argument, his chin was set and his eyes had a definite 'Don't fuck with me' glint. The only thing missing was a pout, and those lips were coming pretty damn close to forming one.

"Sam, you have to." Renfro's tone was just as firm as Gerard's, one that he had used on his kids - with mixed success. "It's your duty as supervising deputy to set a good example - "

"Cosmo - "

" - to embody the courage, determination and ability to keep a straight face under difficult circumstances. To - "

" - delegate whenever and wherever possible. That's what a good leader does. It teaches his people to be independent, to show initiative and to be strong. I'm doing this for your own good, Cosmo. So - go get 'em, tiger." Gerard clapped him on the back in a passable imitation of John Wayne at his most manly.

Beginning to sense he was losing ground fast, Renfro let his shoulders droop into a dejected slump as his eyes widened. "Sam, you can't pass this one on to me. Ask anything else of me but - I can't do this. I can't walk into that office, face those people, tell them what they need to know - and keep a straight face. There are cameras in there. It'll be all over the local news. My wife will divorce me. My kids will disown me. Can you imagine them having to face their friends in school?"

"Dirty pool, Cosmo," grimaced Gerard.

Ruthless when necessary, Renfro pressed home his advantage. "Louise thinks I'm a hero. Patrick thinks I'm keeping this country safe from major bad guys."

"Dammit." Gerard intensified his glare, hoping Renfro would back down or at least grin so he could find the strength to resist. It didn't help that what Renfro was saying about Louise and Patrick was true, even if it would have embarrassed the other man to be told so.

Renfro managed to keep any hint of a smile off his face and continued to give Gerard the big-eyed puppy look he -

Gerard gave a suspicious frown. "Have you been taking lessons from Richard?"

Renfro raised an eyebrow but made no response.

"All right. I'll do it," Gerard sighed. He was losing his mind, or his grip, or -

"Thatta boy!"

"Your support has been noted." Gerard's expression lightened. "Hey, maybe Poole could do it."

As Deputy Poole happened to be standing three feet away it was clear she was expected to know what Gerard was asking of her.

From her expression it was also clear that hell would freeze over first. "No."

"Don't I have any authority over you people any more?" asked Gerard, more plaintive than threatening.

Poole refrained from answering but gave him a meaningful look that would have crushed a lesser man.

"You could do it," Gerard coaxed. "You could keep it deadpan." His smile would have charmed angels down from heaven.

While she was far from immune, Poole knew better than to let Sam know that. "I could. But I have to get changed."

"How long could it take?" asked Gerard persuasively.

Poole looked at Renfro. "Tell him, Cosmo."

"It can take hours, Sam. Especially if she washes her hair."

Gerard looked skeptical. "Other women, yes. You?"

"Are you implying I don't make enough of an effort over my appearance?" Cool had become perma-frost, Poole's voice was icy enough to freeze a polar bear. Only her eyes gave her away, warm as they were with amusement.

"You don't need to - you're beautiful without all that crap."

Poole smiled. "That's real smooth, Sam. Exactly what's needed in that press room."

Gerard held up his hands in less-than-graceful defeat. "OK, OK. Jeez. I guess if I want anything done properly around here I'll have to do it myself. Richard will be here soon with my tux. Show him where the changing room is. And keep Marie away from him. That young woman was far too taken with him the last time he showed up and I don't want him embarrassed."

While Poole smiled at the thought of a blushing Richard Kimble, Renfro's eyes narrowed a fraction although his face remained carefully blank. He flicked a look at Poole, whose smile was fading as she followed the direction of her companion's thoughts.

Haunted by the images of Big Dog being hounded by reporters, Renfro said diffidently, "If you want me to handle the press, Sammy?"

Gerard gave a smile of great sweetness, the kind that warmed right through to the marrow; Cosmo had never been able to master a poker face. While Renfro's offer was tempting he was damned if he was going to back off from doing his duty just because it stirred uncomfortable memories. Besides, today's press conference would be on a lighter note than any he had given before. His only worry was whether he would be able to keep his face straight.

"Sam, are you OK?" Disconcerted to have lost his attention, Renfro patted the other man's arm. Abruptly he was the focus of shrewd dark eyes.

"You can leave the press to me, Cosmo."

"Alright," exclaimed Poole. "You realize you're never gonna get through the press conference without losing it," she added. As she had intended Gerard's look of determination turned to rueful acknowledgement, while there was a frankly gleeful look on Cosmo's face.

"She's right. You'll never do it, Sammy."

Gerard turned to study him. "You reckon?"

"There is no way on god's earth that anyone could get through the full facts of this case without losing it."

Gerard had been suckered more times by Cosmo Renfro than Poole could count. Unsurprised, she saw that today was no different.

"Fifty bucks says I pull it off. I can handle it. I will handle it. Hey, there's Roger and, my, my, my, I do hope that's Poole's dress and high heels he's carrying. This department has enough cause for gossip as it is. Poole, go get ready. Cosmo, is Caroline heading over here?"

"She said so."

"Good. Did you tell her to rent you a tux?"

"Ah, shit. It slipped my mind. Oh well, I - "

"Good thing I rang and told her then," said Gerard blandly.

"You didn't." Renfro stared at Gerard and there was horror and betrayal in his eyes and voice.

"Hell, yes. It'll do you good," said Gerard heartily.

"And make me strong?" suggested Renfro with a touch of acid.

"Let's not get overly ambitious here. Wow, right on cue here's Caroline." Gerard waved at the beautiful redhead who had just exited the elevator and was sauntering into the open-plan office. "Cosmo, you do not deserve that woman. Tell her she looks incredible in green. Better yet, I'll see her myself. Let the press know I'll be with them in five minutes."

"How much are you intending to tell them?"

"Everything - that they need to know. With a straight face. I could use that fifty dollars. Don't you raise that eyebrow at me, Poole. You just keep your eye on the lead dog. You gotta learn to keep your emotions under control. And never give them more than they need."

Gerard swung away, striding across the room towards the beautiful redhead who was smiling at him. He pulled her in close and she practically disappeared; a petite woman surrounded by a wall of solid maleness. She was obviously comfortable there, one slim hand with its neat, practical nails coming up to pull Gerard down for a friendly kiss that landed full on his mouth.

Renfro wandered over to the couple, his eyes warm, obviously at ease with the fact his wife was cuddling up to the man whom, when she had heard him referred to as Big Dog, had agreed fervently - then made it clear she'd missed the reference entirely and had made up her own reason. Renfro hadn't been able to look Gerard in the eye for weeks, though he'd had more of a problem with where not to look. It was around that time that Biggs had asked him if he was gay.

When Caroline surfaced from Gerard's embrace there was a definite sparkle in her eyes. There was also a smear of lipstick on Gerard's face that made Renfro grin.

Gerard gazed at Caroline, his attention caught by something indefinable. There was a difference about the woman but it wasn't unfamiliar, more like - Ah. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead, his smile tender. "Cosmo, you definitely don't deserve this young woman. You look beautiful, Caroline, as always."

"Thanks, Sam. I see you're all running a little late?"

"We got held up on a few things but once I make nice with the press and get them out of here we'll be ready to go. I see you got Cosmo a tux."

"Yes. Thanks for telling me. It must have slipped his mind," she said dryly.

Both Gerard and Mrs Renfro turned to look at Cosmo, who twitched once then tried to look innocent.

 

Caroline Renfro brushed red hair out of her eyes and took a deep breath, telling herself she would not strangle her husband for the sake of their children. Besides, there were far too many witnesses, Renfro having come out of the changing room and back to the office and his waiting wife. Smoothing crumpled silk between small, elegant fingers, she attempted, once again, to wrestle the uncooperative bow-tie into something approaching an accepted shape around the neck of her equally uncooperative husband. She was busy resisting the urge to slap him round the ear when he froze. Grabbing the opportunity, she tugged the silk into place and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Her irritation faded as she took in the sight of her man looking elegant and sexy in the rented tux. Even his hair was looking neat, which was quite a feat, and his shoes were polished to a mirror-like sheen. She was looking forward to scuffing them later. It made her efforts all worthwhile seeing him like this. Her feeling of triumph faded a little when she realized she hadn't cowed her husband into submission, his sudden stillness was due to the words floating over the speaker. She recognized Gerard's voice and glanced around, spotting him in the glass-walled office that served as a press room.

"What's Sam up to?"

Cosmo glanced at his wife, a smile on his lips. "I think maybe this is our reward. Hey Roger!"

Roger Barton was sitting on his wife's desk, rearranging pens and stringing paper clips together. He was a big man, some might even say cuddly, and his normal expression was one of warmth and kindness. Now he just looked plain bored. He had the air of a man who was waiting for his wife to walk in and was ready to praise her appearance, even if it had taken forty minutes - so far. To his credit he had only once looked at his watch. Hearing his name called he looked up. "Yeah?"

"Poole still getting ready?"

"Oh yeah." The look he shared with Renfro was one of long-suffering manhood at the hands of cruel womanhood; it was international and excluded all females over the age of twelve.

Caroline pretended not to notice.

"Well I think you ought to fetch her," said Renfro, his attention back on Gerard. "Trust me, she won't want to miss this."

 

Kimble walked into the U.S. Marshal's Office - or was forcibly dragged, depending on how one viewed the event. He'd been quite prepared to wait for Gerard in the lobby but had been hailed by a couple of deputies as if he was a long-lost friend. The taller of the two was looking very smug and Kimble recognized him as George-impotent-married-kids-dog-smoker-Freeman. Judging by his smile at least one of these was no longer a problem, which would explain the enthusiasm of his greeting. Kimble allowed the two men to escort him to the elevator, relieved when George didn't tell him the results of Kimble's advice and the other man, Ed-philanderer-adventurous-vegan-O'Brien made no mention of his urinary infection.

He found the department in a state of uproar. While a few poor souls were pounding away on their keyboards and swiping at their furrowed and sweating brows, most of the super-efficient, highly professional deputies were wandering about in various stages of undress, although mercifully underwear appeared to be compulsory. From the snatches of conversation, mostly jokes or complaints, it appeared the female personnel had taken over both their own and the men's changing rooms and showers.

Gerard was nowhere to be seen but Kimble spotted Biggs and headed towards him. The deputy's moustache was neatly trimmed, as was his hair, and he looked unfamiliar in formal attire. For some reason Kimble was surprised to see the tuxedo fitted like a glove, until he saw Wesley at Biggs' side. The accountant was wearing a look of immense satisfaction and from the glances he kept casting at his lover it was clear to see the cause. He caught Kimble grinning at him and his own smile widened.

"You got to admit, he cleans up real good."

Kimble looked Biggs over from head to toe until the deputy was squirming with embarrassment. "Real good. Let me guess - Wesley, you chose the tux."

"Thanks, Richard," Biggs said wryly as his partner gave the deep booming laugh that seemed to run in the Barton family. Kimble had heard that same laugh many times from Wesley's brother, Roger.

"I like the ear-ring, Richard," Wesley said, fingering the enormous hoop in his own lobe. While dressed in formal black and white just like everyone else, there was something about Wesley that made him stand out from the crowd, which had nothing to do with the hoop or the red and gold parrots on his silk vest. He was an accountant, he usually wore a plain suit and his tightly curled black hair was kept short and neat, yet he seemed to exude a certain flamboyance and an air of readiness to be amused. He could look serious, yet he was more often seen with a smile on his face; and when Biggs was at his side he crackled with an energy that could rival Sam Gerard's famed levels.

"Thanks. That's quite an ear-ring you've got there yourself," noted Kimble tactfully. He tried to imagine Sam's expression if he arrived home wearing one quite so flamboyant and was almost tempted to get one before reluctantly conceding he didn't have the flair to make it work for him.

"Hey, I'm black and I'm beautiful, I can carry it - " Wesley broke off, unable to sustain a deadpan face, and his booming laugh broke out again, making several people near him grin though they had no idea what had been said.

"Well I - " Kimble broke off as he became aware of Gerard's voice. He looked around and spotted him in the press room. "How come I can hear Sam?"

"There are speakers in there. Hey, Newman," Biggs shouted over to the other man who was watching the elevator with the intensity of a hawk searching for likely prey - or a puppy hoping for a second dog biscuit.

Noah left his post with visible reluctance, smiling when he saw who was accompanying the other deputy. "Richard, Wes. Looking like a couple of penguins, I see. What's up, Biggs?"

"What's going on with Sam? He doesn't normally broadcast his briefings to the press."

"We've got a bet going," Renfro said, coming up alongside Wesley and smiling a greeting.

"A bet?"

"The Snow White case. Sammy swears he can tell it to the press without cracking so much as a smile."

They paused to listen.

"Never gonna happen," said Biggs with conviction.

"Not if it was you or me, but this is Sam," said Newman.

Kimble began to grin. "What's the bet worth?"

"Fifty bucks," said Renfro with relish.

"Sam can be pretty determined when he puts his mind to it. Cut me in and I'll make him crack. "

"No fair, Richard. We can't cheat. It wouldn't be right."

Kimble gave Renfro a skeptical look. "Since when have you - ? Ah. OK, where's Caroline?"

"Right behind you," she said dryly.

About to swing round to greet her, Kimble paused. "So is Poole," he identified.

"How the - ? "

Kimble turned to face the two women. "And one of you a detective," he mocked. "I recognized your perfume." He stooped to place a kiss on Poole's upraised face, aiming for the cheek, but she had other ideas.

One long vigorous kiss later Kimble was allowed to come up for air. Poole gazed at him a moment before announcing to her husband, "I need to reapply my lipstick, honey. Richard's wearing most of mine." She sashayed away, leaving Richard to finger his lip, a distinct gleam in his eye.

Caroline smiled then fished out an enormous handkerchief. "Here." She took Kimble's jaw, tilting his face so she could swipe the handkerchief across his mouth. "There. Back to looking macho."

Kimble gave the woman a quizzical look. "Thanks."

"Be grateful she didn't spit on it," Renfro told him darkly, in the tones of one who had suffered such indignities. "Hey!" He peered round Kimble at the press room, staring at Gerard before he gave a disappointed sigh. "I thought I heard him laugh."

"Sam's made of sterner stuff," Kimble said, unaware of the pride in his voice. "You sure I can't just - ?"

"No. When I win I want the satisfaction of knowing Sam blew it all by himself. And he will. Trust me on this, Richard. Sure, Sam's had to deal with some tough cases but this one just about beats all. This is just the boring stuff. Wait until he gets to - " He broke off, his attention caught by something Gerard had said. Shouting to the room in general, he announced, "Hey! Big Dog's reached the dwarves!"

As if drawn by some invisible magnet, deputies began to drift over.

 

"As you are all no doubt aware, this case has earned itself the name 'The Snow White Case'. What you may not know are the reasons why." Gerard paused, the faintest quiver on his lips before he ruthlessly banished it. He glanced out at the rest of the office, taken aback to see what looked like half the department sitting on desks, chairs and laps, for all the world as if awaiting a show. Then he saw Richard propped on the edge of a desk. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo yet and with his shirt sleeves rolled up tanned crossed forearms, black pants pulled across muscular thighs and a broad grin on his face he looked so familiar, so Richard, that for a moment Gerard lost track of what he was about to say. Kimble gave every appearance of waiting to be amused but Gerard saw past the relaxed pose. The shoulders were just a little too hunched, the grin just a shade forced, a betraying tightness round the eyes, mouth and jaw. Most revealing of all, those wonderful hands that could create such pleasure and perform miracles were clenched.

Richard was in protective mode and trying desperately to hide it.

Feeling as if his heart was swelling and trying to push through his ribcage, Gerard set out to entertain his lover and reassure him that he was just fine with the press nowadays. The best way he could think of to do that was to let Richard see him in control.

"Let me tell you a story," he said in his warmest tone, before he set out to woo the hardened journalists, who were currently looking faintly bored.

 

"Sam's kidding, right?" Caroline glanced from one deputy to another, seeing the smiles on their faces and the truth in their eyes. "Allergies. The guy had allergies so he hid in a pet store?"

Biggs grinned and nodded. "He came out in lumps, sneezing, itching, the works. Hence Sneezy."

Caroline continued to listen to Gerard, her disbelief growing that there could be so much stupidity in one family. Inbreeding had a lot to answer for.

Gerard was relating to the press the story of seven brothers who had been broken out of a prison van by their white-haired old mother and her trusty sawn-off shotgun. When they had been pursued the family had split up. The first 'dwarf', the oldest brother, had attempted to evade capture disguised as a woman but had forgotten to shave his beard - or allowed for his size fourteen feet. The second brother had attempted to escape via a rooftop then got a bad attack of vertigo and had to be rescued by the local fire department. She hadn't heard what the third brother had done because at that point both Roger and Wesley Barton had started to laugh. Their partners had swiftly clamped hands over their mouths but Caroline was still in the dark and hadn't asked because at that point Gerard had started the tale of the fourth brother - the one with the allergies.

She glanced at her husband who only days ago had looked drained and tense. Now he looked relaxed and happy, the way he usually did. She slid an arm around him, her palm resting on the curve of his ass. He looked at her then, amusement fading to be replaced by love and he kissed her tenderly before hugging her to him. She noticed his hand was resting on her stomach, something he had always done when she was pregnant. Smiling to herself, she wondered if perhaps her news wouldn't be such a surprise to him after all. No wonder her Cosmo was so valued by Sam Gerard, he had good instincts.

Thinking of Sam, she glanced across at Richard Kimble, the man responsible for peeling away the final layers that had hidden Gerard from those who cared for him. She had always had a fondness for Sam but there had been times when she had sensed something held back, and a melancholy that would strike when he thought he was alone. Before Richard came along, her strongest image of Gerard was the man who had slipped out onto her porch one evening after a meal, hands shoved into his pockets, while he stared out into the darkness as if daring something to step out of the shadows. She had wondered at the time whether he'd had a little too much Renfro domesticity. Now, though his visits were not quite so frequent, he'd mellowed, allowing his inner warmth full range. And there were no longer any shadows in his eyes.

Richard appeared to be weeping into Poole's neck, which was quite a feat because even in high heels she was still a good eight inches shorter than him. A good thing Roger wasn't the jealous type, Caroline mused, as Poole's husband gave the man cuddling his wife a warm smile. Richard was a good-looking man, though obviously not a patch on her Cosmo. She lost track of what Gerard was saying, caught up in people-watching. She rarely got to see most of those present, though she felt she knew them as well as her other friends. She had heard so much about them, had known about Biggs and Wesley for years, had heard all about Newman's new girlfriend - who hadn't arrived as yet, though Noah wasn't looking the least bit worried, just eager - had listened to Cosmo complain, boast, praise and worry about this small select little group who were, no matter what they might say to the contrary, a family. And as Cosmo's wife she was a part of it, of them, just as Wesley and Richard and Roger had become. Just as her children were. She looked from one to the other, her eyes warm and a fond smile on her lips. There were worse families you could be adopted by.

 

Roger choked back his laughter as Gerard began to tell the press about the fifth 'dwarf', not wishing to drown out that wonderfully flat voice - though he'd swear the strain was beginning to show. While Sam's delivery was prosaic his eyes were sparkling with fun. Most of the press, who had been listening to Stonewall Gerard with disbelief on their faces, were laughing out loud. Nina Daley had been forced to leave the room and head for the water cooler; she could still be heard hiccuping. Gerard's dry recital of the facts had never faltered. Except it wasn't dry. Sure, he was sticking to this bet Cosmo had told him about but he wasn't just giving the press a dull recital of the bare facts. With that smooth Texan accent that seemed just a little more pronounced than usual, with his choice of the words he was using, he was entertaining them.

Roger stared more closely through the glass-panneled walls and admiration swept over him.

Hell, Sam Gerard was charming them. And the press were lapping it up.

Gerard began to give details of the sixth dwarf but all Roger caught were the words 'helicopter', 'searchlights' and 'take me to your leader'. He marvelled that this man who had been crucified on television and who had endured questions about his private life no one should ever have to suffer should still be capable of such courage. To Roger's mind it didn't matter that Poole had told him the reporters who had sent Richard Kimble out of state on a lecture tour - the wrist had been a lucky accident as far as he was concerned - and had hounded Gerard were different from those gathered in this same office. The whole damn lot of them should have been rounded up and charged with assault. People had been driven to kill themselves for lesser things, Roger had seen enough evidence of that.

Instead of getting mad, giving them the bare minimum or passing the buck Sam had taken them all on - and he had them eating out of the palm of his hand.

Roger shot a look at Kimble, who still had his arms around Euphemia but the doctor was no longer laughing, instead he was watching Gerard with a rapt look on his face. Roger knew that look, he had worn it often enough and knew he would always wear it whenever his love for his wife got that little bit overwhelming. The flush on the cheeks was more apparent in Kimble, the drawback to having pale skin, but the glow in the eyes was the same. He would be feeling that strange clenching, melting sensation, that breathlessness and tightening of the throat that struck when it dawned on you for the first time, the tenth time, the thousandth time that you were gazing at the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

He looked from one deputy to another, attaching some piece of trivia to each one. He frowned when he got to Marie Boulet certain from his wife's description that he had the right woman but her manner simply did not correspond with what he'd been told. Her dress was high-necked and ankle-length, very pretty but restrained for a woman who was said to flirt with anything possessing a dick. Right now she was listening to Lenny Gold - in his fifties, no Mel Gibson to look at, twice divorced, father of five - as though he was the most fascinating man in the room. There was no understanding women.

He moved on to Biggs and Wesley, smiling when he saw how close they were sitting. Robert had been the best thing that had ever happened to his brother. Roger had been unable to help Wes find his own identity as he had tried to fit in, had tried the gay scene. Wesley had been too young at twenty-three to realize that it was OK to want to find your one true love, that romance wasn't the sole property of heterosexuals and women. Then he'd met Robert Biggs and fallen in love. He'd grown up at that moment and suddenly knew who he was and what he wanted.

Watching them, it occured to Roger that they had never been so open about their relationship before.

Before Deputy Marshal Gerard had fallen in love with Doctor Kimble.

Ironic that it had taken a formerly straight man to show Robert and Wesley that it was OK to be relaxed and open about their relationship. While they would probably never go so far as to kiss in the office, at least they no longer arrived at departmental functions with a careful five feet between them - ridiculous considering most of the department had known about them for years. Besides, who could resist his baby brother?

Roger looked away, intending to smile down at his wife and instead caught sight of Cosmo sliding a foot up and down Caroline's four inch stiletto heel. He really wished Euph hadn't told him about that kink of Cosmo's. Rapidly averting his gaze, Roger wondered for the first time whether anyone knew of his little - likes. The frowning gaze he turned on Poole was almost accusing until he remembered how close-lipped his wife was with other people, even within the 'family'.

He looked across at Cosmo, who was holding his wife in a way that was loving, protective, and oh so familiar. Did Caroline realize she was part of another family? Caroline caught him watching her and smiled warmly at him. Returning it, he gave a little chuckle. Oh yes. She knew. He turned his smile on his rough, tough deputy marshal wife who was waving at the elegant couple emerging from the elevator, almost knocking Richard's eye out in the process.

It was at that moment that Roger realized that he wasn't quite as close-mouthed as his wife, especially after a successful surgery. And the surgeon he worked best with?

He was almost sure he hadn't told Richard about the carbonated water and pineapple rings.

Oh god. Euph was going to kill him.

 

Wesley listened to Gerard with increasing enjoyment. Then he realized Biggs was murmuring endearments to him. In French.

It was the loving smile and the whispered words 'l'amour et la fumée ne peuvent se cacher' that did it. Dwarves and a Texas accent just couldn't compete with a romantic Robert Biggs.

 

Vonetta Ritchie waved back at Euphemia Poole, smiling but puzzled to see what appeared to be most of the personnel gathered together, as if for a show. For a moment she thought they were racing cockroaches again. Henry had told her of this 'sport' with great glee one day, looking disappointed when she obviously hadn't got the point. Bugs were something you sprayed, threw out of the window, or squished if they looked like they wouldn't make that awful crunching noise. You did not race them. Then she saw they were not watching the floor but the press room. And in that press room was Sam Gerard. Vonetta's eyes narrowed. Was it possible she had just seen Sam grinning at the press and - Oh, lord, was that a laugh?

She looked from Gerard to the deputies and watched with bemusement as several of them wiped their teary eyes. Only a few were not laughing. Robert and Wesley were gazing soulfully at each other and really should just go get a room. Lenny and the man-eater, Marie, were having what looked like an intense discussion. Richard was wearing a smile like one she'd last seen on Henry's face right after their baby had been born, one of pride and love that had made her bones melt even after she'd been through the agony of labor. She looked around to confirm her initial impression. Yes, everyone else was laughing, snorting and in a few cases weeping pathetically.

As they approached the group she saw Henry reach inside his jacket and she stifled a groan. "You didn't bring the new baby photos?"

Henry just gave her a guilty look then pasted an ingratiating smile on his face. She shook her head at him and wondered for the umpteenth time how any criminal could be intimidated by her great big teddy bear of a man. "Save it, Henry. Tonight it's just you and me." Seeing the first gleam of hope in his eyes she murmured, "That's right. I hope you packed your pistol, deputy."

Leaving her glazed-eyed husband behind her, she sauntered away to say hello to the 'family' she had acquired when she married Henry Ritchie.

 

Kimble knew he was grinning like an idiot, he could feel it stretched across his face, but didn't attempt to suppress it. Firstly, he'd probably fail, and secondly, with the performance Sam was giving he felt he had every right. The sight of Sam controlling the press so effortlessly had healed a raw wound whose existence he had refused to acknowledge until then. Sam was so clearly at ease with them - except for his struggle not to allow his impassive mask to fall. But dwarf by dwarf his control was slipping.

It was when he'd started telling the press about the seventh dwarf that Gerard's famed composure had finally cracked. It began with a break in the voice, probably caused not only by the ridiculousness of the case he was recounting but also by the fact even the most sober and responsible members of the press corps were doubled up with laughter. One or two die-hards had tried to remain straight-faced but Gerard's deadpan delivery followed by his eventual collapse into a surprisingly high-pitched fit of - well, what could only be described as the giggles - had worn them down. Simply put, the press conference was in an uproar. Cameras were still rolling but it was doubtful whether the footage being shot would be usable since the cameramen were in no better state than their colleagues.

Gerard was waving a hand helplessly, clearly fighting for control. A hand swiped at his eyes and nose and it was then that Richard Kimble had a revelation. He knew he loved Sam, had known for quite some time. But it occured to him that this laughing, helpless, incoherent heap of manhood was everything to him. Nothing else mattered.

He watched as Sam struggled to get back control. After a few false starts, a sober mask disguised the hilarity within but it was too late for that now. Looking at the faces of the reporters as they watched Gerard, Kimble knew that no matter what facade Gerard chose to show them in future, no matter how little he gave them or how difficult he chose to be, from this day on every man and woman in that room would remember the Sam Gerard they had seen today, the very human Gerard few people were priviledged to know. And the press had loved him.

Kimble almost felt able to forgive them for what they had put Sam through during the Summer.

Almost.

But the press weren't important, Sam was.

He spared a thought for the others watching the show and glanced round to see the cream of the Marshal's Office watching Gerard with various degrees of fondness, pride and amusement.

Gerard wound up the conference, gave the journalists an uncalculated smile and looking relaxed and happy wandered out of the room to rejoin his deputies. A chorus of voices greeted his arrival back in the open-plan office, affectionate derision which he met with a resigned grin.

"That's right, kick a guy when he's down. Get outta here. We have a party to attend."

Kimble watched as Sam's 'kids' clustered about him. You'd swear you could glimpse wagging tails - Big Dog with his pack. It would never occur to them, or to their partners, that they had been allowed into Gerard's private world and were part of a select group. Why, it was almost like a family. He grinned at his own sentimentality. Sam was right, he was getting wussy.

At that moment Gerard sidestepped Cosmo and headed towards Richard, a tender smile on his face.

So he was a wuss. He blamed Sam.

Gerard came to a stop three feet away but the light in his eyes was such that Kimble felt as if his lover had just caressed his entire body.

"Richard. Hi." The dry lower lip was moistened, the black lashes sweeping down briefly to mask the dark eyes. When they lifted the heat was gone to be replaced by a more socially acceptable warmth. "I need - "

"Fifty bucks, right?" Kimble drew out his wallet but was so busy gazing at Gerard that it took him two attempts to count out the correct number of bills, which he handed to a grinning Renfro. "Easy money. No wonder Cosmo looks so happy."

"I'd have thought it was because he was married to Caroline," murmured Gerard, his gaze never leaving his lover's relaxed face.

Mrs Renfro smiled at Gerard then slapped her husband lightly on the chest. "Now why don't you sweet-talk me like that?"

The glare Renfro cast at Gerard was a wasted effort, given that all the other man's attention was on what his lover was saying.

 

Kimble was still grinning at details of the Snow White case which Sam hadn't shared with the press as Gerard led them into the elegant ballroom, which was the venue for the retirement party for Annie Sayers, the oldest deputy marshal in the department. Determined to do Sam credit, Kimble ignored the safe haven offered by Roger and Wesley and set about meeting as many deputies as he could; memorizing names and faces, he swopped jokes with the men and danced with what seemed like half the women present. As far as he could tell Gerard danced with the other half.

Sam danced well, the grace unstudied, the physical control total. The stark severity of his tuxedo and evening shirt made him look - Kimble resolutely turned his attention back to what Annie was telling him. But even as he danced with her he remembered the first time he had seen Sam, riddled with flu, going off to some function in a tux. Only then -

A lifetime ago, Kimble reminded himself as he handed Annie back to her husband.

The party rapidly widened in scope when Newman, arriving late with a woman who could only be Alison at his side, announced that the news had just broken - Howard was taking early retirement. All the indications were that the decision had been made for him, the press release a masterpiece of bureaucratic discretion - otherwise known as bullshit.

Fists punched the air, deputies cheering before everyone, including Annie, began to party in earnest. Having been sitting with Caroline Renfro discussing techniques for working wood when the news broke, Kimble's gaze automatically searched out Gerard, unaware that the expression on his face matched Sam's fierce, predatory grin of satisfaction. Seconds later he and Caroline were engulfed by a group of laughing deputies and Roger Barton was handing him a glass of orange juice to toast the new marshal.

Eating some of the excellent food while he absently listened to the rambling story Lenny Gold was relating, Kimble was touched to see that the man-eater on Lenny's arm was staring at the older man with unmistakable adoration. But then a couple didn't need to be predictable to be viable, he reminded himself. Look at him and Sam. He let his gaze wander back to where Gerard and Alison were busy charming one another, while Noah beamed on, happy to see his two favorite people getting on so well together. While Kimble had met Alison only briefly, he had immediately been struck how similar in some ways her manner was to Sam's: forthright, ironic and with a direct gaze which pinned you to the spot.

The moment was broken as deputy after deputy took drinks over to Gerard, which he barely had time to sip before the next person came along to toast him; the sound of champagne corks popping could be heard all over the room. Not that anyone was crass enough to mention the real reason for the celebration. The toasts were to Annie, to the lead dog, to a beaming Caroline and a bemused-looking Cosmo, who was telling anyone who would listen that he didn't know how it had happened, Henry and Vonetta and even to Lenny and Marie, who were now officially an item. It seemed to Kimble, who was enjoying the show from the sidelines, that every deputy in the room got a mention.

While the party began to wind down around midnight, it was gone one before Gerard was free to leave. Kimble watched Sam wave off Caroline Renfro as she drove away in his Ferrari, while her husband sat slumped on the passenger seat, just sober enough to refrain from comment.

"So what's Caroline got on you?" enquired Kimble as he unlocked the filthy and childworn vehicle they had been left to drive home. Like Caroline, if for different reasons, he had stuck to soft drinks all evening.

"As if," said Gerard, looking about as mellow as it was possible to get while still vertical. "All she had to do was remind me how much it would rile Cosmo."

"That's what friends are for," mused Kimble.

"You bet. Hey, I need some compensation. I'm gonna be hearing him worry and whine about Caroline's pregnancy for the next six months. And don't give me that look. I've already gone through four pregnancies with him. I know what to expect. Ah, shi-it," Gerard added as he slumped on to the passenger seat. "This time he's gonna be calling you out at all hours."

"No he won't," said Kimble serenely. "Caroline and I made a pact earlier this evening."

"Yeah? Excellent. Jeez, these seats are uncomfortable," said Gerard, fidgeting before he subsided with a wriggle which Kimble found highly distracting. His bow tie already unfastened, Sam dealt with the top buttons of his shirt.

Having adjusted the front seat and the two mirrors, Kimble was about to drive off when he paused and gestured to Gerard's face. "How many women kissed you tonight?"

Gerard shrugged. "About the same number as kissed you, I guess. That lipstick might suit Poole but it doesn't do anything for you."

"Damn, there goes the surprise," mourned Kimble as he fished out a handkerchief, cleaning first his own face, then Gerard's and resorting to Caroline Renfro's chosen form of cleanser when some lipstick proved hard to remove.

"I can see why Cosmo complains," muttered Gerard, grimacing with disgust.

"Don't be such a wuss."

"Hey, it's OK for you. I'm the one with your saliva all over my face."

"Like that's a first," said Kimble, leaning across to fasten Gerard's seat belt for him.

"I could have seen to that," Gerard pointed out lazily. "The department's gonna miss Annie," he added, following his own line of thought. "It was a better party than I expected." He was speaking more slowly than usual, his accent more pronounced and his gaze was distinctly owlish.

"Me, too," said Kimble with truth. "Do you know who Howard's replacement will be?"

"Yeah. That was the phonecall I took just when we were leaving the ballroom. It's Ken Short. He's a good man."

"Does that mean he thinks the same way you do about most things?" enquired Kimble dryly.

Gerard gave him a sleepy grin. "I wish. Though I guess he does on the important issues. More to the point, the department will have a marshal they can rely on to back them. And I've nothing against the occasional scrap." The relish in his voice made Kimble grin.

"Especially when you win. You have a good bunch of people," he said as he eased the four-wheel drive into the stream of traffic. Friday night was party night.

"I could do worse," allowed Gerard. Sprawled at his ease, he settled a hand over Kimble's thigh.

"So could they," replied Kimble, acutely aware of that motionless weight, warmth to his warmth. The first tickle of arousal began to spread through him. "Which they have the good sense to realize." He tried not to notice that Gerard was unfastening the rest of his shirt, pristine white gaping to reveal the honeyed skin underneath. It made Sam seem more naked than if he had stripped off all his clothes. It occured to Kimble that given all he'd had to drink tonight without ever getting the chance to eat, Sam was well on the way to being drunk. Given that Sam's usual limit was a couple of beers, it was the first time he had seen him like this; it was oddly disconcerting to have lost the sharp-witted man he lived with, even if there was something endearing about the dopily-sweet individual blinking at him.

"Don't give them too much credit. It's approaching the time for the yearly assessments," dismissed Gerard, his voice rich with amusement. His thumb was slowly circling Kimble's outer thigh. "Having you with me tonight was the best," he added, his softened voice slightly slurred.

Kimble nodded in acknowledgement as he made a left. "I have that effect on people," he allowed modestly. Between Gerard's caressing hand and the intensity of his gaze, his dick was beginning to harden.

"Delusional, too," noted Gerard. Because they were pulling up to the lights in three lanes of traffic he removed his hand from Richard's thigh, turning slightly on his seat the better to study his companion. "You should wear a tux more often," he announced authoritively.

"In bed, for instance?"

"Maybe just the tie," mused Gerard, settling his hand back over Kimble's leg as they got underway again.

"No prizes for guessing where you had in mind," said Kimble, his cock continuing to rise under the influence of Sam's appraising eye.

Gerard shook his head, stopping when his surroundings began to spin. "I like your dick just the way nature intended." It seemed very warm in the car and he opened the window but the influx of cool air did nothing to clear his head. He went back to studying his lover, tracing the familiar profile with his gaze and finding something new in it every time. "Your hair's growing back fast," he noted, unaware of the satisfaction in his voice.

"Tell me about it. I need to get it trimmed every three or four weeks when it's this short," grumbled Kimble.

"I guess."

Wondering if he had imagined that wistful note in his lover's voice, Kimble shot Sam a look. "Would you rather I grew it back?"

Gerard's dismissive gesture was more expansive than usual. "Hey, it's not my decision."

"It could be. Here. I make it yours. So how do you want me to wear my hair?" invited Kimble.

The most decisive of men blinked several times, muttering silently to himself while he weighed up the pros and cons of long and glossy as opposed to short and eminently strokeable.

"I can't make my mind up," Gerard admitted at last, wearing a perplexed frown that made him look so endearing that it took all Kimble's will-power not to kiss him.

"Well try," he murmured, "because I'm feeling real submissive tonight."

Something in that velvelty voice seeming to stroke along his dick, Gerard swallowed convulsively. "Yeah?" he managed to croak.

"Oh, yeah. We can do anything you want, Sam. I mean, anything." Kimble immediately recognized that he had overplayed the role of the siren when amused dark eyes travelled over him, just before Sam gave a derisive snort.

"That'll be a novelty. Get real," he added kindly as Kimble shot him a glance. "When have you ever held out on me?"

"I could try," Kimble offered, but his tone was wry. He knew his weakness where Sam was concerned too well to have any illusions.

"Maybe when we get more jaded." Gerard watched with a sleepy satisfaction as the gates opened to admit them, then closed again, shutting them off from the world for as long as they wanted - or if he was being realistic, the weekend. He began to hum under his breath.

Kimble shot him an indulgent look, then concentrated on completing the last few seconds of the drive without steering into the drainage ditch. The warmth of Sam's hand on his thigh was doing absolutely nothing for his concentration, particularly when he finally identified the song Sam was humming as 'I'm in the Mood' - which was lucky, because so was he. Pulling up outside their front door and distractingly aware of Gerard sitting there, lazily rubbing his naked chest, Kimble wasted no time in leaving the car. Walking around the bonnet, he yanked open Gerard's door and swooped down to kiss the crease across the flat belly.

"Out you come," he said huskily, extending one hand.

Gerard swayed slightly as he left the car. Propping himself against the side of the Renfros' four-wheel drive, the mud adhering to it doing his tuxedo no good at all, he tilted his head back as he flexed his neck. Becoming aware of the beauty above him as he stared into the night sky, he remained in that position, trying to remember the position of the stars he had learnt when he was a kid in Texas.

"Sam?" A warm hand settled over his diaphragm, stroking him gently.

"Isn't this just one of the prettiest skies you've ever seen?" All solemnity, when he looked down Gerard was disconcerted to find Richard's face so close to his own. "We should take more time to look at the stars."

"You're right, we should. But not right now, huh," coaxed Kimble, kissing the just-parted mouth as he eased the half-bare body closer, his hands sliding up and down Gerard's back and sides under his shirt and jacket.

"You got something more interesting in mind?" mocked Gerard, dodging the next kisses with small movements of his head.

A pinch on the ass concentrated his thoughts, Richard's tongue invading his opening mouth.

"My, you are horny," Gerard discovered as he rubbed his groin against his lover's with a display of bonelessness remarkable in such a powerfully built man.

Their kisses deep and unhurried, they eventually made it into the house, Gerard draped over his companion in a way which might have given Kimble advance warning if he hadn't been enjoying it so much. Gerard closed the front door by the simple expedient of leaning back against it.

Turning to deposit the keys to the Renfro's car in the bowl, the breath caught in Kimble's throat, as if he had never seen the other man before. Propped against the solid mahogany door, his bare, brown torso framed by the black jacket of his tuxedo and white shirt, Sam's shoulders seemed to cover the massive front door, his hips looking non-existent.

Richard's dick twitched. This was where it had all begun for them. Sometimes he fantasized about this door; about having Sam up against it. About -

Kimble dropped his jacket to the floor, swiftly followed by his evening shirt, cummerbund, shoes and socks.

Gerard blinked at him. "What you doin'?"

"Stay there," ordered Kimble huskily. "Don't move."

"OK," said Gerard amenably. His voice sounded slow and rich, those ridiculous eyelashes of his were more in evidence because he was blinking slowly, as if it was an effort to keep his eyes open.

Kimble was far too aroused to notice. Still wearing his evening trousers, he was pressing Gerard up against the door with his body, his hands moving over his lover in great possessive swathes as he nipped and sucked at Sam's strong throat.

His eyes closed, Gerard slid slowly down the door to slump on the floor, his parted legs outstretched. Kimble simply followed him down, making small feral noises as he continued his oral exploration, sometimes fiercely, mostly not because he was disarmed by such an acquiescent lover.

Sam's breath damply erotic against his neck, Kimble was frustrated to discover his inability to travel any further down that wonderful body. It was a full ten seconds before he realized how even the breathing was, how heavy and unmoving the body against him. Sam had fallen asleep on him.

Fleeting outrage turned to wry amusement in a heartbeat. Of course Sam had fallen asleep. Even if he'd taken only a couple of token sips from each drink he'd been given he had drunk a lot of champagne - and without getting a chance to eat anything to soak up the alcohol.

Still, it didn't do a lot for a guy's ego to have his lover fall asleep on him, Kimble mused, just before he began to laugh, snorting into his lover's neck as he sucked in the scent of him.

Oblivious, Gerard slept on, comfortably snuggled into the support offered by Kimble's body.

Amused resignation on his face, Kimble concentrated on thinking celibate thoughts while the tips of his fingers continued to sift through the thick dark hair at the back of the head bowed against him.

So much for fantasy, he accepted ruefully. Reality was aching balls and the puzzle of how he was going to get Sam to bed.

He could wake him up of course but that seemed kind of wimpish. The heroic option was to sweep Sam off his feet and carry him up to bed.

Piece of cake, he thought, careful not to look at the wide expanse of the large hall, the quantity of stairs, or the breadth of his lover's shoulders.

Gently settling the sleeper back against the front door, Kimble debated means and method. A fireman's lift, that was the way, he decided, rising to a crouch and slinging one of Sam's arms over his shoulder. Bracing himself, he tried to rise, misjudged the amount of weight that had settled on his shoulder and fell over backwards, with Gerard landing on top of him.

"Richard?"

"Sorry," said Kimble, his voice muffled because Gerard's chest was pressed against his face.

"I forgive you," said Gerard magnanimously before he slowly sat up. "Jeez, the room's spinning. What happened?"

"I tripped," said Kimble, flirting with the truth. He vowed never to admit his moment of stupidity to his lover. Even if he had managed to cross the hall there was no way he would have been able to carry a guy built like Sam up those stairs. Not without injuring one or both of them, anyway. He helped the other man to his feet, keeping a firm grasp of Sam's waist while Gerard's arm was slung over his shoulder. "Better?" he gasped, making a mental note to workout more as they staggered across the hall.

Gerard gave him an unfocused smile of some sweetness and planted a kiss in the corner of his lover's eye. "I just need some shut-eye. Who would have thought a few sips of champagne - "

Busy negotiating the stairs, Kimble saved his breath.

 

Waking after only an hour of sleep, Kimble headed into the bathroom, emptied his bladder and paused to stick his tongue out in the mirror as he smugly reflected that at least he didn't have a hangover.

Returning to the bedroom, he lingered at the foot of the bed to enjoy the sight of the moonlit figure of the man sprawled across a good two-thirds of the mattress, before he shook his head at his own sentimentality. It was late - or early - and he was beat. The air cool from the open windows, he was about to draw the covers around Gerard's shoulders when he peered at the half-averted face, a look of delight overtaking his sleepy expression when he saw that Sam Gerard, leaper of tall buildings, was drooling in his sleep.

At last!

If he wasn't such a wonderful guy he would wake up Sam to tell him.

A few seconds later Kimble snorted. Boy, had he lost it, staring at Sam like some lovesick fool.

There were worse things to be.

Unable to stop himself, he leant across to lick away the trace of saliva gleaming in the light of the silvery moon. Unable to resist the just-parted lips, his tongue tip brushed across them.

Like a worldlier version of Sleeping Beauty, Gerard responded before he was fully awake. His body was certainly ahead of his brain.

The next thing Kimble knew he was flat on his back with his mouth full of Gerard's tongue and a warm, tumescent body rubbing against his. Making a soft sound in which surprise and pleasure were mingled, Kimble abandoned all thoughts of sleep, helpless with pleasure under this sensual assault. His hands full of responsive Gerard, they exchanged increasingly slow, wet kisses. All sense of urgency dissipated in the sweetness of the moment and the sense of unity which came just from touching and being touched, from the joy in Sam's smile and the hunger in his eyes.

They made love with Kimble propped against banked pillows and Gerard straddling him, their legs tucked around each other so that their cocks could be held together. Having set up a rhythmic rocking, their urgency decreased, slowing yet further as they began to kiss again.

Conscious of every small sensation, from the pillows bunched in the small of his back to the tickle of hair at his side from Gerard's forearm, Kimble was totally sensitized to every point of contact their bodies shared. It was the slowest build-up they had ever known, seeming to go on forever. Dazed and drugged on Gerard, Richard never wanted it to stop.

He smiled as he finally identified the sounds his lover was making; he'd never heard Sam purr before.

Completely open to one another's needs they didn't speak. There was no necessity for words. Pared down to nothing but love Gerard had no other needs or desires. Richard fulfilled all his needs and was everything he desired. He knew beyond doubt Kimble felt the same. He could feel that he did, and if this intense sense of unity came only once in a lifetime it would be enough.

Gerard came with the softest of sighs before his hand slid down to spill Kimble into climax. He began to lick his hand clean afterwards and found Richard's tongue there already. Seconds later they were exchanging sweet, lazy kisses again.

They remained tangled in a knot of limbs and bedding for some time, reluctant to lose the last precious moment of a closeness so complete that Kimble literally could not find the words that came close to expressing how he felt.

Reality eventually intruded on their idyll with Gerard's need to urinate and the cramp in Kimble's right thigh. Such mundane details were swiftly dealt with and for once both men were content to wallow in pure, bone-melting, heart-bursting Romance.

A sappy grin on his face, Kimble fell asleep to the sound of Sam whispering Spanish love-words in his ear.

 

"Good morning," said Gerard as he returned from the bathroom, looking rested and as sober as a teetotaler, rather than a man who only three hours ago had been squiffy on champagne.

Kimble groaned and twitched the sheet higher around his own ears. "Go back to sleep. It's night-time."

"Nonsense. Though it's early, I grant you," Gerard added, determined to be fair.

"Sam, it's barely light," protested Kimble pathetically.

"Light enough for pancakes. I'm hungry. I missed lunch and dinner yesterday. I need food. Aren't you going to get up?" Gerard added when there was no sign of movement from under the sheet.

"No."

Kimble could have remained strong if Sam had protested or argued. Instead, the sneaky son-of-a-bitch just murmured an accepting 'OK' and quietly began to dress.

Sighing, Kimble abandoned hope of sleep in the foreseeable future. His reward came as he pushed himself up in bed in time to see Sam easing into his jeans.

"I changed my mind," he said grumpily as he caught Gerard's eye.

"OK," Gerard repeated. While the tone was innocuous, he looked horribly smug. Revenge was sweet after all those mornings of an appallingly perky Richard. Catching sight of Kimble's suspicious look he parted his hands and opened his eyes extra wide. "What?" When no reply was forthcoming he added, "I'll get some coffee on."

Padding into the kitchen ten minutes after his lover, not noticeably invigorated by a quick shower, Kimble took in the energized figure dancing around the room with a sense of disbelief despite his months of living with Gerard. It was unnatural, he decided, slumping onto a chair and propping an elbow on the table and his head on his hand.

He was asleep before Gerard began to howl the chorus to 'Werewolves of London'.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 1997 - December 1998


End file.
